


Every opportunity offered to him

by EtoileGarden



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: AU, Alcohol, Canon Death, Comfort, Communication, Emotions, Friendship, Hurt, M/M, Making Out, Non magic AU, Ronan POV, a lot of swearing, hookup AU, meeting alternative ways au, non-explicit mention of suicide attempt, not a sex hookup, ronan pov of chin to chest, woah a lot of angst on this side of the boat fellas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-10 01:34:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16460921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtoileGarden/pseuds/EtoileGarden
Summary: So guys I re-read my fic Chin to Chest the other day and thought to myself that the best use of my time today was to rewrite the whole thing from Ronan's perspective (with additional content because I'm a sucker) so here y'all are!!!!“You want me to just kiss you?” he asks.Ronan nods.The kiss happens a lot sooner than Ronan had expected, even though honestly  he should have known it was coming. It’s this bruised boy pressing up against Ronan’s lips, and then opening his mouth against Ronan’s lower lip, wetting it in a way which makes Ronan - irritatingly - gasp. Then he’s pulling away, looking at Ronan.“Proof enough?” he asks.Ronan nods.





	Every opportunity offered to him

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Chin to Chest](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16195763) by [EtoileGarden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtoileGarden/pseuds/EtoileGarden). 



> dudes as always this is unedited and jsyk i am posting this at 1.07 am and i finished writing it five minutes ago love yall

Ronan was well aware that what he was hearing was not actually an endorsement, that was made very clear by the kind of language the seniors he was eavesdropping on were using. It was familiar language. Not quite because it was something he heard often but because it was something his ears were very sensitive to. He heard these sort of words and immediately tuned in because; what if it was important? What if it was about him? What if -?

 

These particular seniors were talking about a spot at the local high school - by local highschool, Ronan meant the only highschool around that wasn’t specifically for assholes, rich dummies, and Lynches (who were possibly the other two things as well, or at least sometimes). They were talking about a spot at the local high school in a very demeaning sort of why while they implied that it was a place in which people like Ronan would meet up and also hook up. Of course, they didn’t say ‘people like Ronan’, because nobody knew that Ronan was a person like Ronan except for Ronan and people Ronan had told (which was nobody unless you were counting the statue of Mary at St Agnes), but. So. 

 

In retrospect, Ronan would probably come to realise that what they were talking about was something that - if it took place at all - would take place in the evening, or in full dark, and certainly not in the very middle of the school day. But. Ronan didn’t leave the farm in the evening unless he was with his family, because, why would he? And full dark was best for sleeping - which came hard - or for fireworks, or for birdwatching. So. So. 

 

-

 

Ronan has never really understood why lunchtime is an enforced ‘stay on school grounds’ time at Aglionby (for the younger students, older students could do whatever they fucking wanted, which was unfair, quite honestly. It wasn’t as if a year or two of age would make THAT much difference in what kind of trouble they would get up to in forty five minutes while trying to get a sandwich), and therefore, never really paid much attention to that rule. This was easy to do when you were Ronan, because Ronan had been imbued since birth with a hearty helping of disregard for rules, an extra serving of self independence, and possibly too much of a knack for purposefully isolating himself even if that wasn’t exactly what he really wanted. What that really meant was that Ronan did not have a group of friends to extricate himself from when he decided at the end of English class that he was going to sneak over to Mountain View high on his bike at lunch and go see if there was indeed a ‘gay hookup’ spot near the apple trees on the edge of the school grounds. It meant that in fact, he didn’t even need one or two other friends to back him up, or hype him up in his sneaking out. And it absolutely meant that he did not feel an ounce of worry or guilt at breaking the rules as he unlocked his bike and peeled out of the front gates. 

 

Mountain View high is a ten minute bike ride from Aglionby, which always strikes Ronan as odd because the two schools felt worlds apart. Even though he had only decided in English class that today was the day, he had decided from the moment he had overheard the seniors talking that he was going to do it, and therefore, he had everything he needed in his bag at all times. Everything he needed was actually just an outfit that wasn’t his Aglionby uniform. He changes quickly in the small shade of a collection of scraggly trees near the high mesh fence of Mountain View, then he chains his bike to the fence, and then, with the help of years of sport, climbing trees, and general athletic gene good luck, scales the fence. 

 

He lands among the roots of apple trees, which means he is pretty sure he’s in the right place. More importantly, he can see the small closed up building that he’s heard is the haunted counseling office, which means, he’s in the right place. Most importantly, there’s a figure under a tree by the building. 

 

This is where, if Ronan were to give into the niggling fear in the pit of his stomach, he would turn around, climb the fence again, and cycle off. But. He was a Lynch. His father had always been very clear on what it meant to be a Lynch. Lynch’s didn’t give in to that niggling fear. They pushed on anyway. So. Ronan took a step forward, and then another, and another, and then another until he was close enough to see the side of the under the tree figure easily which lessened the niggling fear a little bit because the figure was a boy about his age, a beautiful boy about his age, a beautiful boy his age, poring over a book. A twig cracks under Ronan’s feet and the boy startles, then looks up and sideways and straight at Ronan. All the niggling fear returns in full force.

 

“Um,” Ronan says. Which isn’t what he had meant to say, but he hadn’t actually expected to be so intimidated by this moment. 

 

Or maybe it isn’t the moment that’s intimidating, maybe it’s the sprawling bruise on the boy’s fine boned face. He takes another step forward, just a small one, and another twig cracks loudly. Maybe it’s the same twig. 

 

“What?” The boy asks. He doesn’t look very interested. He’s holding his book as if he’s going to drop himself back into reading at any moment.

 

“Uh,” Ronan says, because apparently talking is not his fucking forte. His hair has fallen unhelpfully over his eyes, and he pushes it impatiently out of the way. “I heard, I heard that this is like. A meet up place.”

 

“What?” The boy asks again. He’s closing his book on his fingers, looking Ronan over, and then over again, and frowning like he doesn’t like what he sees. 

 

“Y’know,”  Ronan blusters stuffing his hands into his pockets and hunching forward a little as if a bad posture would somehow outweigh his nerves, “are you here for that?” 

 

“Uh,” The boy says - which relieves Ronan slightly, because now he’s not the only one seemingly at a loss for words.  What doesn’t relieve Ronan is the fact that then the boy stands up, brushing grass and leaves off his jeans, gathers his books, and says;  “No, I’m not. Find someone else.” 

 

This stings. A little. Because Ronan is pretty sure he’s an ok looking dude. Mostly because this boy is definitely more than an ok looking dude. 

 

“You don’t have to lie,” he says, “you could just say you don’t like the look of me.” 

 

The boy stops. 

 

“What?” he asks, he doesn’t turn fully around, he doesn’t look like he’s actually interested in hearing whatever Ronan has to say. 

 

“Am I not pretty enough?” Ronan asks, stumbling over his own words, “Or like, buff enough?” 

 

He sounds pathetic. Desperate. Maybe he is. He folds his arms around himself and speaks again. 

 

“Look,” he says, “we don’t have to, like, hookup. Or whatever it is that happens here. I just - look. I just wanna talk to someone like me. The hooking up bit would just have been a - a - a bonus.” 

 

This is also something Ronan had not been meaning to say. He had wanted to come off as cool. Knowing. Not some scared as shit teenager needing to know if he was doing this whole gay thing the right way. Needing to know he wasn’t the only one like him in this whole town. 

 

“You’re gay?” The boy asks. 

 

Right. It’s one thing to say this to yourself in your own hear. ‘You’re gay’. To know it. Another to hear it being said to him in someone else’s voice because the majority of the time he hears words like that they are not being said nicely. If he were not a Lynch he would be trying to leave right now. Because he’s a Lynch, he stays. Because he’s a cowardly Lynch, he ducks his head forward so his hair covers his face.  

 

“Yeah,” he grits out, “I guess. You are too though, right?” 

 

“I like guys,” the boy says, “you came here for a hookup?” 

 

“Not sex!” Ronan blurts out, “Just - y’know.” 

 

“I thought you were after drugs,” the boy admits, shifting his bag on his shoulder, smiling just a little. It made his face seem somehow more delicate under the bruise and the cautious nature of the smile. “I didn’t know this place had a reputation for like,  _ meet ups _ .” 

 

Ronan  shrugs, “Maybe it was a joke,” he mumbles, “I wasn’t told outright. It was just. Something I heard. When I saw you here, by yourself, I thought, maybe it was true.” 

 

“I look gay, huh?” The boy asks. He doesn’t sound happy about it. The smile is gone. His face still looks delicate, but in a brittle way. A sharp brittle way. Like if it broke it’d cut you too. 

 

Ronan shrugs again, “You’re pretty,” he mumbles, “I dunno. No? What the fuck do gay people look like? Do I look gay?” 

 

“No,” The boy says, “what’s your name?” 

 

“Um,” Ronan pauses here because it’s one thing to be brave and reckless and go out and boldly do or whatever the fuck, but it’s another thing entirely for the chance of all your boldly doing somehow getting back to your parents, or your older brother. “uh. It’s - I don’t know you. I don’t know if you’re actually gay too. What if I tell you my name and you go telling people?” 

 

The boy frowns at him, cocks his head to one side. It’s an odd look he’s giving Ronan, one Ronan can’t quite translate. He doesn’t know if he’s supposed to say anything else here. Then, the boy drops his bag to the ground. 

 

“You came here for a hookup,” he says, “I can prove I like guys to you and you can get a hookup. Win win.” 

 

Ronan sees no other course of action but to nod, so he nods. The boy glances over his shoulder, then leads the way over to the nearby building. They both lean against the wall, and the boy looks at him again, a calculating look, but not a - not a mean calculation, Ronan thinks. . 

 

“You want me to just kiss you?” he asks. 

 

Ronan nods.

 

The kiss happens a lot sooner than Ronan had expected, even though honestly  he should have known it was coming. It’s this bruised boy pressing up against Ronan’s lips, and then opening his mouth against Ronan’s lower lip, wetting it in a way which makes Ronan - irritatingly - gasp. Then he’s pulling away, looking at Ronan. 

 

“Proof enough?” he asks. 

 

Ronan nods. 

 

“You don’t have to tell me your name,” the boy says, “we could keep this anonymous.” 

 

“You just don’t wanna tell me your name,” Ronan snorts. The boy shrugs. Ronan can picture him saying, ‘your loss,’ and walking off. “Fine,” Ronan says, “we don’t say our names.” 

 

“Ok,” the boy says, “cool.” 

 

This not dismissal is enough of a confidence booster for Ronan, and he decides that he’s come this far, he may as well keep going. “You wanna kiss more, now?” he asks, “Or are you like, saying we could maybe meet up more and kiss again later?” 

 

The boy shrugs. Still somewhat aloof and uninterested, but he says; “Both,” in a way which makes Ronan feel like maybe that’s just how the boy looks. 

 

“Huh,” Ronan says. “Ok. You could call me … uh… Selkie.” 

 

“What?” the boy snorts, “Selkie..?” 

 

“It’s not my name,” Ronan defends quickly, shoving his hands into his pockets and stepping away as he regrets the whole keep going thing. “but like,  _ Selkie _ is better than just not having anything to call me by.” 

 

The boy is laughing, but he doesn’t seem - he doesn’t seem like he’s anywhere near as standoffish as he was just moments ago. He seems somehow even more open than he was when they were kissing. It’s the laughter.  

 

“Fine,  _ Selkie _ ,” he says, “you can call me… hm - ha - Adam.” 

 

This is a relief. “That’s nowhere near as cool as Selkie,” Ronan says, “how unimaginative.” 

 

“Well,”  _ Adam  _ says, “it’s Adam or nothing.” 

 

“Oh I like Nothing,” Ronan replies, considers adding on that he could be ‘Nobody’ and then he could be ‘Odysseus’, but  _ Adam _ gets in first with what he would probably have said if Ronan had added all of this.

 

Adam frowns at him. “You’re weird,” he says informatively. 

 

“So my brothers tell me,” Ronan says, “are we gonna kiss more or are we gonna discuss names more, Nothing?”  

 

“So let’s kiss,” Adam says, he’s smiling again, “god knows you need more practice.” 

 

“Fuck you,” Ronan snorts, “sorry we can’t all be sluts.” 

 

“Fuck  _ you _ ,” Adam retorts, “you’re the one who came looking for a hookup.” 

 

“You’re the one who offered,” Ronan replies, he wants to get closer to Adam. “So come on.” 

 

Adam kisses him again. 

 

This kiss is much different from the first kiss because the first kiss Ronan had been entirely unprepared, and this kiss he was -. No. this kiss was very much like the first kiss because Ronan was still entirely unprepared. At least at first. Adam is kissing him very gently, hands to himself, and Ronan appreciates this because he thinks that this is already so much that if there was anything more going on right now he would jump right out of his skin. Then Adam lifts one of his hands up to Ronan’s jaw, tilts his head just slightly and Ronan doesn’t actually jump right out of his skin, in fact, he feels like he’s melting into Adam’s skin because it’s really nice being touched so gently and he can feel his shoulders loosening, even though he hadn’t been aware they were stiff, and he wants to move closer to Adam and he wants Adam to keep rubbing his thumb in the hollow of his cheek, and - 

 

He doesn’t know quite how long they kiss for. Enough that Ronan thinks he’s getting used to how kissing works, understanding how to move his mouth in response, knowing when to fucking breathe. Then Adam pulls away, wipes his mouth, cracks his neck side to side. 

 

“Bored already?” Ronan asks, his voice a bad attempt at casual. 

 

“I can only take so much of you trying to stick your tongue in my mouth,” Adam replies, “but I also gotta get to class soon.” 

 

Honestly, rude. Ronan had barely put his tongue in Adam’s mouth. But still.  

 

“I’ll see you again?” Adam says, which isn’t what Ronan had thought he was going to say, “We could do this again?” 

 

“Sure,” Ronan mumbles. “Meet here again?” 

 

“Sure,” Adam replies, “not this week. Maybe, maybe like same time next week?”

 

“Sure,” Ronan mumbles again, “see you then.”

 

\- 

 

Ronan expects this to last maybe a couple of weeks. A couple of weeks and then Adam would get bored with him. He expects this because Adam is very closed off, he holds himself as if he’s wearing armour forcing him to stand upright, weighing him down, protecting him. He seems like the kind of guy who will be nice enough about it all when he tells Ronan that he’s bored with him now, but that it was fun. This doesn’t happen. In fact. He doesn’t exactly put down his fucking armour or whatever, but he like, lifts the visor. He smiles at Ronan in a way that makes Ronan really fucking hope that he isn’t about to end things any time soon because that was such a nice smile. 

 

They meet up the very next week after they first meet, and that meeting was pretty similar to the first. A few awkward comments. A few long moments of awkward kissing. Ronan not expecting Adam to ask to see him again. 

 

The next time is better. The kissing is less awkward, the comments are less awkward, Adam’s chest is pressed to Ronan’s chest when they kiss, and Ronan asks to see him again. Adam says yes. 

 

The fourth time they meet is the second time in a week and it starts with kissing and then somehow turns into a homework session. Ronan had considered leaving Adam to it, but Adam hadn’t suggested he leave, and Ronan didn’t want to go back yet, and he did kind of want to sit down next to Adam and lean his weight against him and be irritating. So he did that. He doesn’t know how he ended up doing his own homework as well. Possibly because Adam said he’d kiss him again afterwards. 

 

-

 

“You’re kidding,” Ronan snorts, about two and half months later, chucks his half finished bag of pretzels at Adam, “you’ve gotta have a favourite movie. Everyone does. I bet it’s just something you’re embarrassed about. Go on. What is it? Barney? Barbie?” 

 

“I’m gonna blow your mind even more now,” Adam replies, snagging the pretzels and picking up the one that had spilled into the dirt to pop into his mouth, “I ain’t ever seen any Barney or Barbie. I never watched tv growing up unless it was like… football.” 

 

“Gross,” Ronan sneers, reaches out for the pretzels bag. Adam tries to push into his hand but Ronan just grabs a pretzel and leaves the bag with Adam. “You’re one of those jock boys then, huh?” 

 

“Do I look like a jock boy?” Adam snorts, reaches for another pretzel absentmindedly and puts it into his mouth. He’s only half paying attention to the conversation, the rest of his attention is taken up with a mock chemistry quiz he’s scrawling on.

 

“Uh,” Ronan says through the pretzel in his mouth. He leans in closer to squeeze at Adam’s bicep, “kinda fucking yeah?” 

 

Adam rolls his eyes, finishes with whatever he’s scrawling, stuffs another pretzel in his mouth, and says; “I don’t like football, it was just the only channel the tv was ever on. Anyway, you look more like a jock.” 

 

“Offended!” Ronan gasps, snatches the pretzels away and rolls backwards from Adam on the grass, “How dare you? I’ll have you know I play  _ tennis _ which is like… the least jockiest thing I could play. Except golf, maybe? I bite my thumb at jocks.” 

 

“You’ve bitten my thumb” Adam says to his papers, “what does that mean?” 

 

“It means your hand was too close to my mouth and I was hungry,” Ronan says, “come  _ on _ then. What’s a movie you like?” 

 

“I dunno,” Adam says, seems to understand that Ronan will tackle him if he doesn’t answer more substantially, because he hurries to say, “I saw the latest spiderman? That was ok.” 

 

“It was ok?” Ronan considers tackling him anyway. “Just ok?” 

 

“Just ok,” Adam replies firmly, “I don’t have much time for movies, ok?” 

 

“You work too much,” Ronan says, “from what I hear you’re always like, either doing this boring ass homework or at a job. Like, what? Your parents really wanted a nerd for a kid, huh?” 

 

He knows this is out of line. Not because he thinks he’s saying anything assholey, but because it was an unspoken rule between them. They don’t talk about family. They don’t talk about parents. It’s just the two of them alone in the world when they’re chatting together. A quick glance at Adam’s suddenly stiffer posture tells Ronan that Adam doesn’t appreciate this bending of rules. That or Ronan actually did say an asshole thing without realising. 

 

“Just because you don’t give a shit about grades doesn’t mean no-one does,” Adam replies quietly. 

 

He’s doing this thing that Ronan had noticed very early on. In the first month or so, Adam always arrived all tight and stiff and armoured up, and it would take Ronan a while to get Adam to lift his visor, or unbend. In the last few weeks, Adam had come already unbent, but, could very easily get all stiff and quiet again. Like he was doing now. Where Ronan can almost see a sheet going over Adam’s face, can feel the barrier going back up. He hates when this happens because it always takes a while to get it fully down again, and usually Adam leaves sooner when he’s all stiff and uncomfy. So. He needs to knock it down before it’s fully up. He throws a pretzel at Adam’s face, then another, then the whole bag in quick succession. 

 

“Lighten the fuck up,” Ronan says, “I think it’s fucking cool. Chill.” 

 

Adam throws the bag back at him. Pretzels fly. The barrier drops back down. Adam finishes his mock quiz, stands up to check the perimeter, drops down beside Ronan, kisses him until all Ronan can think about is the kiss and how Adam’s mouth tastes like pretzels and toothpaste. 

 

When Adam goes, Ronan stays under the tree a little longer. He’s going to be late for Maths, but he kind of doesn’t care. When he’s here he doesn’t have to think about his life, doesn’t have to think about who he is. All he has to think about is what to say to Adam, and the fact that Adam says he kisses really well now, and the feeling of how warm his stomach is. 

 

-

 

“So,” His mother, Aurora, says as they do the dinner dishes together that evening. It was supposed to be Matthew’s turn, but he was off at a sleepover and Aurora had told Ronan that they were going to do it, so they were. 

 

“So,” Ronan replies, wrinkles his nose up in disgust as a piece of wet bread touches his hand in he sink. Who the fuck left bread on the plate. What. Why. Gross. 

 

“I got another phone call today,” Aurora says, very casually, “from your school.” 

 

“Was it to say how cool I am and how I get really good grades?” Ronan asks, flicks the soggy bread out of the water onto the splashback. This is a bad idea because it just drips down wetly and slides onto the edge of the sink where it teeters, teasing its inevitable fall back in. 

 

“They didn’t go into detail about that,” Aurora says with a delicate snort, “what they did go into detail about was the fact that you skipped lunch period again.” 

 

“What even is lunch period?” Ronan says, gritting his teeth as he scoops up the bread to go dump, “Why do they feel the urge to keep us trapped on school grounds when they’re not even trying to teach us?” 

 

“Honey,” Aurora says, “this is the fifth time I’ve gotten this phone call in the last few weeks.” 

 

“Sorry,” Ronan mumbles, then, “I’ll try not to be caught next time.” 

 

“Ronan,” Aurora says, a touch firmer than before, “what’s going on?” 

 

“Nothing,” Ronan says, plunging his hands back into the water and fishing around for cutlery, “I just don’t see any point in hanging around school when I’m not required.” 

 

“You’re required to stay on school grounds,” Aurora points out, “and also, they said you were half an hour late for Maths.” 

 

“Maths is boring,” Ronan grumbles. 

 

Aurora is quiet for long enough for Ronan to retrieve all the hidden cutlery at the bottom of the sink. 

 

“Is someone picking on you?” She asks, “Are you feeling… unsafe at school?” 

 

There were a couple of seniors who called Ronan names occasionally, but only when Declan was out of earshot. It wasn’t anything awful though. He wasn’t skipping lunch because of them. He didn’t feel unsafe. 

 

“No,” he says. 

 

“If you are at all,” Aurora says, “you can tell me. You know that, yeah?” 

 

“Yup,” he says. 

 

“Ok,” Aurora says, “so, here’s the deal,” she pauses to flick dishwash foam at him, “you can tell me where you’re going and why, and I’ll write you notes to get you out of lunch, or, you can not tell me and you have to attend lunch.” 

 

Ronan has to think about this. It’s a serious offer, he knows. He even knows that even if she dislikes what he tells her, she’ll keep the deal. But. He doesn’t know if he’s prepared to face the idea that she’d dislike what he has to tell her. Because. Even if she is  _ fine _ with the whole gay thing, the whole sneaking off during school to go makeout at another school was probably not something she would be pleased about, no matter what gender. 

Plus then he’d want to tell her about Adam, and well, he didn’t even know Adam’s real name. He couldn’t tell his mother that he was hardcore crushing on this guy he’d known for a couple of months, who didn’t know his name either. 

 

“I’ll go to lunch,” he says.

 

“Ok,” Aurora says. It’s hard to tell if she’s disappointed or not. 

 

“But,” he mumbles into the foam, “can I - um. Can I skip lunch tomorrow? Only tomorrow. I promise.” 

 

He’s expecting a no, and he’s not entirely sure what he’ll do with this no. Because on one hand he had told Adam he’d meet him tomorrow, and if he didn’t - well. He liked to keep his word. But if his mother said no, then he’d be breaking his mother’s trust. Shit and hell quite honestly. 

 

“Ok,” Aurora says, “I’m not going to write you a note though,” she says with a sudden smirk, “so you better be careful about not getting caught.” 

 

Ronan snorts. 

 

“I’ll do my best,” he grins. 

 

-

 

Matthew is too sweet and too earnest to be sneaky, so when Ronan asks if he can have his old phone to give to a friend who doesn’t have one, Matthew doesn’t try to wheedle who out of him by asking subtle questions. 

 

“You have a friend?” Matthew asks. 

 

If this was Declan asking this, Ronan would smack him. This is Matthew asking this. Ronan smacks him as well, but gently. 

 

“Yeah,” he says. 

 

“Who is it?” Matthew asks. 

 

“Somebody,” Ronan says. 

 

Matthew considers this answer. He’s holding onto his old phone. Ronan could just take it, Matthew would chase him and they’d wrestle, but he’d let him have it. 

 

“Somebody who?” Matthew asks. 

 

“Somebody who’s a secret,” Ronan says. 

 

“I’m good at secrets,” Matthew attempts. 

 

“Matty,” Ronan groans, “you tell us what you’ve gotten us for every single Christmas and Birthday.” 

 

“It’s too exciting!” Matthew exclaims, hands the phone over, “I don’t like keeping happy secrets like that! No one gets hurt if I tell you!” 

 

Ronan takes the phone. “Thanks buddy,” he says, “I appreciate it.” 

 

“Tell me your secreeeeets,” Matthew wheedles, latching himself onto Ronan’s arm, “secrreeeeeets.” 

 

-

 

“You’re late,” Ronan says. He’s lying underneath their makeout tree, trying to read a book, and failing to read the book because he was too busy running through possible scenarios in which he fucks this up. There were a lot of them. “Thought you weren’t coming. Had to scare off, like, your whole fucking school while I waited.” 

 

“It’s a chill spot,” Adam says, dumping his bag down near Ronan’s feet and then dropping himself, knees first, onto the ground near Ronan’s hips. “I got held up talking to my teacher.”

 

“God,” Ronan says, pushes himself up and closing his book, “you’re such a nerd.” 

 

“I just wanna do well,” Adam says, nudges Ronan, “what are you reading?” 

 

“I figured you’d’ve recognised it seeing as you suggested it,” Ronan replies snidely, decides to be an extra helping of irritating by shoving the book into his bag beside him before Adam can take another look.

 

Also because he doesn’t want to get distracted talking about the book otherwise he might not end up doing what he needs to do. He grabs the phone out from his bag, and turns to look at Adam who’s talking. 

 

“Be like that then,” Adam says. He looks like he’s going to say something else, but must have realised that Ronan is waiting to say something because he says; “What?” instead. 

 

“I can’t meet up here at lunch times anymore,” Ronan says quickly. Thinks maybe he should have phrased that better because Adam’s shut down is so quick Ronan blinks and misses the moment his eyes dull.  

 

“Oh,” Adam says, “ok.” 

 

“Mum says I can either tell her where I’m going so she can write a note excusing me from school, or I can stop skipping school because she doesn’t want to get any more calls about my being absent, or whatever,” Ronan hurries to add, wants Adam to engage before the shut down becomes all too brutal and Ronan can’t get him the fuck back. 

 

Adam shrugs. He looks away from Ronan, and digs his fingers into the dirt. “Sucks to be you,” he says. 

 

“Dick,” Ronan replies with a scoff. Adam doesn’t say anything. He wants Adam to say something. Adam doesn’t say something. So Ronan continues. “So I was thinking,” he starts, falters, tries again. “Look, I know you work a lot and don’t have time or whatever, but I thought we could meet up outside of school instead. Probably safer too, like, less chance your classmates are gonna walk in on us kissing.” 

  
  


“Oh,” Adam says again, frowns, twists his fingers around grass and tugs some out, dirt clinging steadfastly to roots. “Oh.” 

 

“Just say no if you don’t wanna,” Ronan grunts, pushing himself upright so he can shift backwards, a little away from Adam and his blank face. “If you want this to be... contained or whatever, I get it.” 

 

“No,” Adam says, “I mean - I mean, nah, I would like to keep meeting up. You’re right about it being safer. I’ve been thinking we should meet somewhere else too. I mean, the holidays are right around the corner, anyway, we’d need to find somewhere else soon.” 

 

“Right,” Ronan says, hopes his relief isn’t as evident as he feels like it is, “so, ok, look. Just to make this more fucking convenient? So we can say when and where without having to wait a whole week to change it?” He holds the phone out to Adam. Adam just stares at it. “Take it,” Ronan says. 

 

Adam does not take it. “What?” 

 

“It’s my younger brother’s old phone. He got a new one for his birthday. This is just - it’s a spare now, so I thought if you took it then we could communicate and things would be easier. Or whatever.” 

 

“I can’t just take it,” Adam protests. 

 

“The hell not?” Ronan grunts, “This’ll make shit so much easier, and I swear, if you don’t take it I’m just gonna chuck it in the trash. It’d be a waste of a phone. C’mon.” 

 

Adam looks like he is very much going to shake his head, possibly tell Ronan to go to hell, and leave. Ronan hopes very much that this does not happen. He keeps holding the phone out. Adam exhales loudly, blinks heavily, takes the phone. His eyes don’t look quite as shuttered as they did a moment ago.

 

“I cleared everything off it,” Selkie says, too cheerful, “and put my number in. So like. I got a new sim for it, and it came with a free one month plan, so like. You’re set for the month.” 

. 

 

“Ok,” Adam says. 

 

“Chill,” Ronan says, “you wanna make out?” 

 

-

  
  


Ronan

4:09

-whn r u free? 

 

Adam

6:09

~Not today. 

~I could do sunday avo?

 

7:02

-12

 

7:08

~sure

~where?

 

7:25

-you knw the vacant lot on prince st? The abandoned fctory?

 

7:30

~yeah

 

7:32

-meet you there?

 

7:40

~ok. 

 

-

 

“I haven’t been getting any phone calls from the school lately,” Aurora says, Saturday night, stopping in at Ronan’s room on her way to bed, “have you just gotten better at sneaking out or have you stopped?” 

 

“Oh come on,” Ronan grumbles, jerks the last piece of string from he guitar he’s re-stringing, “I told you I would stop.” 

 

“I know,” Aurora says. 

 

“So you just don’t trust me?” Ronan asks the guitar. 

 

“I do trust you,” Aurora replies, soft, steps into the room, closes the door behind her. “It’s just that whatever you’re… doing… sounds like something that must be important for you if you need it to be a secret.” 

 

“Mm,” Ronan says. 

 

“It’s not dangerous, is it?” Aurora asks, “You don’t have to tell me what it is, just tell me if it’s dangerous.” 

 

“It’s not,” Ronan says, which isn’t a lie because he’s pretty sure his mother was asking about physical danger, not emotional danger. 

 

“Ok,” Aurora says, then, “if you ever do want to tell me what it is, you can. You can tell me anything, ok?” 

 

Ronan purses his lips, fiddles with the new strings. “Yeah,” he says. 

 

“I know you’ve been - I know it’s disappointing when Dad’s away so long. Disappointing he’s going to be away most of the summer.” 

 

“Mhm,” Ronan says, begins the stringing process. 

 

Aurora crosses the room to stand next to Ronan sitting on the bed. She runs her hands through his curls, tugs at one. 

 

“Do you want to talk about that at all?” She tries. 

 

Ronan considers it. Sometimes he wants to talk about it. But he doesn’t have any real valid complaints. Nothing he should be complaining to his mother about. He shakes his head. 

 

“Ok,” she says, soft, tugs at his curls again, “Matty’s a little sad about it though, give him some extra hugs, will you?” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says. 

 

“Give me a hug too,” She adds. 

 

Ronan snorts, puts the guitar to one side, and leans up to hug his mother who hugs him back fiercely, kisses his cheek, and scruffs his curls again. 

 

When she leaves, he doesn’t pick his guitar up immediately again. Instead, he lies back against his pillows, stares at his glow in the dark star studded ceiling, and thinks about telling her about how knotted up his stomach was. About how he didn’t want to push too many boundaries at once. About how he didn’t know what some boundaries were. About how he missed being younger. 

 

-

 

He’s early to the lot. Mostly because he gets into town early for church, and then stays, so he may as well go to the lot and just wait. He’ll be picked up whenever he texts, but he has to be home before dinner. That’s fine. He plans to skate around the empty lot until Adam arrives, but when he gets there he’s too nervous about everything to skate at all, so he ends up just sitting on the board to wait. 

He shouldn’t be nervous. There was nothing to be nervous about. They’d been doing this for months. It was just a change of venue. Of time. It’d be fine and normal. As normal as secret hookups were. 

 

“Hey,” Adam says, and Ronan jerks a little, causing the longboard to jolt underneath him, and then to escape from under him, dumping him on the ground. 

 

He swears loudly, but doesn’t make any move to try and stop the longboard from careening off across the lot. He just sits there, ass in gravel, and looks up at Adam. 

 

“You’re early,” he says

 

“So are you,” Adam points out,  nudges Ronan’s thigh with his foot, “problem?” 

 

Ronan immediately grabs at Adam’s foot, not pulling him off balance, just disturbing his balance slightly, especially when he doesn’t let go. “No problem,” he says, “there’s a good grassy spot behind this shithole building. No one’ll see us.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says. 

 

Ronan leads the way around the building to the spot he’d scoped out a few weeks prior, but Adam leads the rest of the way. He takes the board from Ronan’s hands, props it up against the wall, then props Ronan up against the wall next to it, and kisses him hard. The stone of the building is warm and rough against Ronan’s back, and Adam is hot against his front, his calloused hands rough against Ronan’s throat and cheeks. There was no reason to have been so nervous. 

 

After they’ve kissed enough that they’re capable of doing other things, they slump down by a bush with tiny flowers on, and Ronan leans in against Adam’s shoulder until Adam lifts his arm up to drape of Ronan’s shoulders. 

 

“You have work today?” Ronan asks, picking at the loose thread in a rip by Adam’s knee. Adam bats his hand away. Ronan puts his hand back, doesn’t pick at the thread. 

 

“I had work this morning,” Adam says, “and I have work this evening. I’m free until about four. We don’t have to hang until then, though, if you don’t want.” 

 

Ronan picks at the thread again. Adam bats his hand away again. “I’m free until then too,” Ronan says, keeps his hand away from the rip for a few moments, giving Adam time to move his hand out of batting position. “So if you like we can hang out ‘til then.” 

 

“Sure,” Adam says, “could be fun.” 

 

“Could be fun,” Ronan mocks back, voice high pitched, “you’re so rude, man. Could be fun. I’m heaps of fucking fun.” 

 

“Heaps of fucking annoyance,” Adam corrects, batting at Ronan’s hand again as he tries to pull at the loose thread again, “cut it out. I don’t want this rip to get worse.” 

 

“It’s fashionable,” Ronan says, “people buy them pre-ripped. I’m just trying to get you to the height of fashion. Your rips need to be bigger.” 

 

“I’m not interested in fashion,” Adam snorts, bats Ronan’s hand again, then grabs onto it to hold it firmly, “I’m just interested in safe and warm knees. Rip your own pants.” 

 

“Sounds like a threat,” Ronan sniggers, not at all protesting his hand being held by Adam’s, “rip my own pants. Hey! You! Rip your own pants, motherfucker!” 

 

“God,” Adam groans, “you’re so fucking weird, y’know that?” 

 

“Uh-huh,” Ronan says, then, “hey, mum gave me like twenty bucks to grab some lunch. Wanna split a pizza?” 

 

“Uh,” Adam says, releases Ronan’s hand, “I don’t have any cash on me right now.” 

 

“Dude,” Ronan snorts, finds his hand at Adam’s knee again, “I just said that my mum gave me some money for lunch. I wasn’t asking to go halvsies or some shit.” 

 

“I can’t ask you to buy me food,” Adam says, which is a very irritating thing for him to say. He swipes at Ronan’s hand, but only half heartedly. 

 

“You aren’t gonna,” Ronan says, “I’m gonna buy a fucking pizza, and I’m asking you to eat half of it. You dumbass.” 

 

“You’re the dumbass,” Adam grumbles. 

 

“Rip your own pants, motherfucker,” Ronan says. 

 

Adam laughs. 

 

They get pizza. 

 

-

 

10:09PM

-u finishd @owrk?

 

~god u suck at texting

~yeah i am

 

-hy blme it on the dyslexisa bababy

 

~rip your own pants

 

-your sposded to add ‘motherfucker’

-anywya dyu hvae work tmrow after scholo?

-school

 

~yeah. But like half an hour.

 

-wanna meet up ta the lot again??

 

~sure

 

-or we cuold just skip clss entirely

-threse only a few days laeft

-it wuoldnt matter

 

~dude

~the only way im skipping class is if the classroom is on fire

~and even then i will still consider going to class

 

-god u r such a fuckning geek

 

~u can last out one more freaking week of class, selkie, i believe in u ;P 

 

-gay

 

~youre gay

 

-yeah i fucking am bithc

 

-

 

This time when Ronan takes his longboard with him, he actually does skate a bit. The crumbling and cracked concrete isn’t actually the best place for it, but he doesn’t mind a few bloody spills, and he certainly doesn’t mind ‘accidentally’ ripping his uniform. This time as well, he isn’t startled when Adam arrives, because he’s facing in the right direction when Adam cycles in, but he pretends he doesn’t notice so he can do a couple of tricks without looking like he’s showing off just for Adam. He pulls two of them off perfectly, then fucks up the last one and lands on his face. 

His skateboard zips off in one direction, and in the other direction, Adam’s bike clatters, and then there are loud, heavy footsteps, and then, before Ronan’s even managed to push himself up on his hands and knees - too busy cataloguing all his body parts were still attached - there are hands on his shoulders. 

 

“Shit, Selkie,” Adam is hissing, “holy shit - are you ok?” 

 

Probably laughing at Adam’s worry is the wrong thing to do, and it isn’t exactly what Ronan is doing, but it’s a little similar. He laughs as he pulls himself upright, using Adam as a lever. 

 

“I’m totally fine,” he says through a bubble of laughter and blood, “shit, man, how the hell d’you get here so quick? You teleport?” 

 

“Piss off,” Adam grumbles, doesn’t let go of Ronan’s shoulders, stares at Ronan’s face intently as if he’s checking him over for any injuries other than the obviously bloody nose and lip. “Did you hurt anything else?” 

 

“Nah,” Ronan says, “I caught myself on my face, didn’t even pull a muscle.” 

 

“That’s definitely gonna bruise,” Adam says, lifts a hand from Ronan’s shoulder to prod carefully at Ronan’s nose. Ronan tries not to wince. “But it doesn’t look broken. You should be ok. Do you have anything you can use to stem the blood?” 

 

Ronan untucks his white shirt (white only in name, not colour, currently) and lifts it up to press under his nose, against his lips. Adam makes a loud noise of disapproval, and Ronan laughs at him through the fabric. 

 

“God,” Adam says, lets go of Ronan completely now and sits back on his heels to look at him, “you’re gonna fuck that shirt up.” 

 

“I’ve got stain remover at home,” Ronan says cheerfully, “It’ll be fine.” 

 

“You’re unlikely to get all the blood out,” Adam grumbles, but there doesn’t seem to be any heat in his voice. Possibly because his eyes are distracted by Ronan’s bared torso. 

 

Ronan smirks, which pulls his split lip. “Like what you see?” He sneers, attempts to pose sexily, something that isn’t easy to do while your body is still singing with adrenaline from crash landing, and your face is burning with various gravelly grazes. 

 

Adam laughs outright at him. Then he stands up, and goes back to his bike. Ronan watches him go, watches him grab his bike and bag, wheel the bike over to where Ronan was crouching, dig through his bag, and pull out a handful of plasters, tissues, and anti-septic. 

 

“Wow,” Ronan mumbles, “you a boy scout?” 

 

“What?” Adam asks, crouching back down in front of Ronan, then sitting on his heels and reaching for Ronan’s face, “No?” 

 

“Always prepared,” Ronan says. 

 

“Are you concussed?” Adam asks, genuine looking worry crossing his face, “Um, should I be taking you to a hospital or something? Calling your mum?” 

 

Ronan snorts. Which hurts. “No,” he says, “I’m not concussed.” 

 

“How do you know?” Adam asks firmly, “Is your vision blurry at all?” 

 

“No,” Ronan grumbles, “I’ve had a concussion before,” he adds, “I 'd know if I was concussed.” 

 

Adam doesn’t appear convinced. He runs through a few other symptoms of concussion, all of which Ronan shoots down, and then shrugs, pulls the shirt away from Ronan’s face. 

 

“Ok,” he says, “looks like you bled out all the gravel.” 

 

“I’m very clever like that,” Ronan tells him. Adam gives him a look.

 

“Right,” he drawls, “so I’m gonna put the antiseptic on it, and then a plaster, aight?” 

 

“Sure,” Ronan says. 

 

-

 

After he’s plastered and antispetic-ed up to Adam’s approval, Ronan shows Adam a few easier tricks, Adam balances on the long board a little, and then they disappear around the back of the building and kiss until Ronan’s lip starts bleeding again. 

 

“C’mon,” Ronan wheedles, when Adam pulls away, wiping the blood first from his own lip, and then from Ronan’s, “I’ll try not to get any blood on you. I’ll just kiss you with my bottom lip.” 

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Adam laughs, “I’ve gotta get goin’ anyway.” 

 

“The worst,” Ronan sighs, “you’re just gonna leave me here bleeding?” 

 

Adam looks at him, eyes narrowed. “Yes,” he says. “I could double you on my bike to the medical clinic if you want?” 

 

Ronan rolls his eyes, “I’m kidding, dude,” he says, “fuck off to work. I’m just gonna do some more tricks.” 

 

“Whatever,” Adam says, rolls his eyes back at him, “don’t fuck yourself up more.” 

 

Adam goes to work. Ronan does not do any more tricks. Ronan texts Declan to see if he was finished at practice and could take him home yet. 

 

Declan picks him up fifteen minutes later. 

 

“Hey,” Ronan says, after he’s strapped in, and after Declan’s given him shit about how dumb the plaster on his nose looks, “I think I might be concussed.” 

 

“The hell,” Declan says, “how?” 

 

“Fell on my face,” Ronan says, motions at his plasters, “I - uh - yeah. Feeling pretty off. Maybe a bit nauseous.” 

 

“Do not throw up in the car,” Declan says, “please do not throw up in the car.” 

 

“I’m not gonna throw up,” Ronan grumbles, “just telling you so like, if I like, fall asleep? You shouldn’t let me fall asleep.” 

 

“What the fuck,” Declan says, a quick step up from his previous statements, “fucking hell, Ro. I’m gonna call mum.” 

 

Declan calls their mum. He talks for a while, and then hands the phone to Ronan. Ronan maybe slurs a little into the phone. He’s pretty piss pleased with himself for holding it together long enough for Adam to piss off before he realised he was right about Ronan being a little tiny bit concussed. 

 

Declan drives them home. 

 

-

 

9:49

-heyyyyyyyyyyyyy

 

~??

 

-yuuuu were right!

 

~youre gonna have to b more specific dude

 

-im helllaaaa concussde

 

~oh shit

 

-yeah! 

-its ok tho mynums a nurse im gnna b ttlly fine

 

~youre such an idiot

 

-uhhuhuhuhuhuh

 

~im glad youre gonna be fine i guess

 

-ur mean as all shit

 

~tired as all shit

 

-mum got all hte blood outa my shrit btw

 

~congrats 

 

-:P :O 

 

~u get to skip school tomorrow then? 

 

-fuK YEAH I DO

 

~:P

 

-

 

They have to wait a good four days before meeting up again, because his mum insists he stays home those four days. He’s really actually totally fine after two days, but his mum says he can take the week off if he wants, he just has to go for the final day on Monday, and he does want. He texts Adam instead, which isn’t something he thought he’d be into. Texting tended to be boring and irritating, but. Texting Adam was fun, because he got to irritate him from out of town. Also because he got to text Adam things like, ‘toast or creal?’ and then he wouldn’t have to make his own mind up about breakfast, or he could text, ‘u think my lip will scar and make me look clool?’ or, ‘wanna kiss u’, and get only various emojis back. 

 

They meet up again that Sunday, Ronan’s bruises all but gone, his lip very much not scarred, his nose a little scabby. Adam has a huge purple bruise under his eye. 

 

“The fuck,” Ronan greets him when Adam hops off his bike after riding into the lot and around the corner of the building to find Ronan, “the fuck happened to your face, man?” 

 

“Nothing,” Adam says, props his bike up against the nearby fence, “it’s fine.” 

 

“Doesn’t look fine to me,” Ronan says, stays where he is, sprawled on the patch of overgrown grass, half finished daisy chain in hand, “looks like you got well fucking acquainted with a right hook, man.” 

 

“So maybe I did,” Adam says, shrugs, drops himself down among the daisies next to Ronan, “but we ain’t gonna talk about it.” 

 

“Why didn’t you tell me about it over text?” Ronan asks, keeps his focus on the daisies. He’s pretty sure he remembers how to finish off a daisy chain crown, “We’ve been texting all week. No mention of your epic showdown. Did you lose? Is that why you kept quiet about it?”

 

“It wasn’t important,” Adam says, “honestly. We gon’ kiss or what?” 

 

Ronan is very tempted to say, ‘or what’, but he does wanna kiss Adam. He hesitates, and Adam reaches out to touch his arm. Ronan puts the daisy chain on Adam’s head, then leans in to kiss him. He’s planning on being gentle, because the bruise stretches down Adam’s cheek, and he doesn’t wanna make it hurt more, but Adam kisses him back like he’s on fire and Ronan’s water. Which is to say, he kisses back hard and fast and a little bit rough. 

 

-

 

They don’t always meet up at the abandoned lot. Sometimes they go to a park and lie by a small pond while shit talking each other, or behind trees to make out, or, once, collecting flowers for Ronan to press for his mum. Sometimes they go to diners, really cheap ones because Adam doesn’t have much spare money, and is very against Ronan paying for shit, so they eat cheap as dirt over salted fries which Ronan actually fucking loves, and drink coke which is mostly ice, and Ronan hooks his fingers in between Adam’s and rubs at his knuckles, and his thigh, and wants to touch him so much because when they’re sitting together inside there’s no outside-smell to distract from how good Adam smells. He mentions this once, how good Adam smells, and Adam looks at him, obviously hugely taken aback, and points out that he smells like gasoline, oil, and sweat. Ronan does not take back his previous statement at all. He bites the crook of Adam’s neck instead. Adam swats at him. 

 

-

 

Ronan spends the majority of his summer holiday doing one of four things. Firstly, helping out on the farm. Secondly, fucking about on the farm with his brothers. Thirdly, texting Adam non-stop about every fucking thing that passes through his brain that he doesn’t feel like saying to his brothers or his mother. Fourthly, taking every opportunity offered to him to kiss Adam, or touch Adam, or see Adam. He has to admit by the time that most of the holidays have shuffled past, that he’s probably skipped right past the just having a crush on Adam thing now, and was, awfully, very, very attached to Adam. The problem was, of course, of what to do about this attachment. Because. They had never really sat down and put into proper words or rules what exactly they were doing. He was pretty the unspoken rule, however, was that this was just hookups. Sure. They were friends, but, what they did when they weren’t being ‘friends’ was just a hookup. It didn’t mean anything to Adam, except a means to an end. Or something like that. Also, they didn’t even know each other’s names. Which. Ronan regretted that. Even though he still didn’t want Adam to know his name. Not because he didn’t trust Adam, or whatever, but because if he had to be Ronan when he was with Adam, then maybe it wouldn’t get to be just its own separate thing. Maybe his real life would bleed into spending time with Adam. Maybe Adam would see that Ronan was really too much of a rough and strange thing and decide he didn’t want to know ‘Ronan’ afterall. 

 

-

 

“Dad’s coming home tomorrow,” Aurora reminds him, one evening near the end of the holdays, popping her head into his bedroom, “tomorrow morning! He said we should all go up to the swimming hole in the afternoon.” 

 

“Sounds good,” Ronan says, “I still gotta get him back for dunking me under the waterfall last summer.” 

 

“Oh baby,” Aurora snorts, “good luck with that. You’re super strong, but y’know, your dad’s just a bit bigger than you still.” 

 

“One day,” Ronan mutters, fist in the air, “one day the student will become the master!” 

 

“You keep telling yourself that honey,” she says, “grab your guitar and come play me some pretty tunes while I cook?” 

 

“Stereo broken?” Ronan snarks back, already hopping up to grab his guitar. 

 

“I like your voice better than anyone else's,” his mother says with a smile, “sing me that nice song you wrote a couple of weeks back.” 

 

-

 

Half past one and the home phone rings. Matthew beats their mother to it, listens for a few moments, and then passes it to Aurora before slumping over to where Ronan was sprawled on the sofa pretending he wasn’t straining for any noise of a vehicle coming up the driveway. 

 

“That was dad,” Matthew says informatively, draping himself over Ronan’s knees, “he got caught up with work. He’s not gonna make it home today after all.” 

 

“Could’ve guessed that myself,” Ronan grunts, a dumb effort not to sound disappointed. 

 

Matthew sighs. 

 

Aurora comes into the room, her smile a small and tight thing. 

 

“Sorry boys,” she says, “dad’s not gonna be home for a couple more days. Sounds like he hit something interesting and needs a bit more time.” 

 

“Boring,” Ronan grumbles. 

 

“Can we still go swimming?” Matthew asks, his face basically all a pout, “I’ve been looking forward to it.” 

 

“Of course,” Aurora says, “I’ll just go tell Dec. You get changed.” 

 

“Okay,” Matthew says, already smiling again as he leaps up. 

 

“I’m not gonna go,” Ronan says, “I’m gonna - gonna head into town.” 

 

“Oh?” Aurora asks. She waits until Matthew’s thundered up the stairs, then comes to sit down next to Ronan, “Are you meeting someone?” 

 

“Dunno,” Ronan says, glares at the tv on which he’s attempting to play Witcher, “they might not be free.” 

 

“Hm,” Aurora says, then, “honey.” 

 

Ronan pauses Witcher, drops the controller onto the couch. 

 

“Are you seeing someone?” She asks. 

 

Ronan shrugs. 

 

“Are they the same reason I got all those phone calls from school last semester?” She presses, gently, and Ronan caves a little bit. He nods. “Ok,” she says, “ok. So, are they just a friend? Or are they -?” 

 

“I really like them,” Ronan mumbles, can feel a flush starting from his chest, slowly making its way up his neck, “I really - um. We’re just - yeah.” 

 

Aurora pats his arm, and then says; “Is it a boy, honey?” 

 

Ronan often dreams that he’s falling. Sometimes he’ll drop right into a falling dream, no context, just the sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach, and the fear in his lungs. Sometimes it’ll be full of context; he’ll be following his father and his father would disappear into the distance, and Ronan would jog to catch up and trip and fall into a hole and fall and fall. Or, he’s kissing Adam, and then Adam pushes him and he falls and the ground is disappeared. All this horrifying swooping sickness in his stomach. That was how he felt right now. 

 

He nods. 

 

His mum doesn’t take her hand off his arm. Or, well, she does, but only to slide it up to his shoulder, up to his nape, to rub her thumb against the side of his neck. 

 

“Ok,” she says gently, “is he nice?” 

 

He nods again. His stomach still feels sick. 

 

“Honey,” she says, “you wanna talk about it?” 

 

He does. He shakes his head. She leans in and kisses his cheek. 

 

“Ok,” she says, “I’m sorry dad’s not coming home today. Let me know if you’re gonna go into town, ok?” 

 

“Ok,” he says. 

 

She goes upstairs. He texts Adam. 

 

-

 

Adam had accepted Ronan’s invite of ‘wnna stuff ur face w fries w me n thn makea out in d dumpster?’ much quicker than Ronan had expected, and by the time he’s driven himself (in the small clunky mini) to the diner agreed upon, Adam is already inside with a large bowl of fries and a grin. 

 

It’s honestly fucking stupid that just this makes Ronan feel about fifty times better. He throws himself into the booth next to Adam, jostles his shoulder against Adam’s until Adam threatens to tickle him in public, and then pulls his feet up onto the seat and digs into the fries. He puts one hand down on the seat between them, and Adam takes it, rubs his thumb against the base of his hand. 

  
  


“I don’t wanna go back to school,” Ronan says when the bowl of fries is half gone and he’s listened to Adam talk about the dog he saw on the way here for ten minutes. 

 

“You’ll get to hang with your friends,” Adam offers, shoving five fries in his mouth at once, “don’t all other Aglionby boys go away for the holidays? You must’ve missed them.” 

 

Ronan snorts. 

 

“Is this you fucking asking why I didn’t go on holiday?” he asks, because he’s gotten to know Adam pretty fucking well by now, and this was a very Adam kind of question. A question that actually is asking something entirely different. 

 

“You are an Aglionby boy, right?” Adam asks, which is a stupid question, because obviously.

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “unfortunately.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, “it’s not like there’s any where else near here you could have been going, so like. Whatever. Why didn’t you go on holiday then?” 

 

“My dad was busy with work,” Ronan replies promptly, eager to get off the topic of why, quickly adds; “anyway. It doesn’t matter, because I don’t fucking have friends at Aglionby.” 

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Adam replies, sounds genuinely shocked, which is a little gratifying. “ _ You _ don’t have friends?” 

 

“Why?” Ronan snorts, “You think I seem popular? Cool?” 

  
  


Adam makes a face, then drawls; “Nah. I just thought you were the kind of dude with friends in the classroom that like, always disrupt class.” 

 

“Nah,” Ronan repeats, chucks a fry at Adam, “I’ve never been good at making friends. Apparently I come off as a snob, or like, cold. Or weird. Or whatever. It doesn’t matter.” 

 

“Huh,” Adam says, then, “transfer to Mountain View, then. I’ll be your fucking friend.” 

 

“Thought you were already,” Ronan says, chucks another fry. 

 

Adam bats the fry onto the table. 

 

“Stop wasting food,” he says, then, “sure. We are. But we’d have an excuse to be if you were at Mountain View.” 

 

“I dunno,” Ronan says, “then you’d know my real name.” 

 

This was not something he meant to say. 

 

“Would that really be so bad?” Adam asks, sounding a little hurt, “You don’t trust me even now?” 

 

“Don’t be a dumbass,” Ronan grunts, throws yet another fry in lieu of banging his head on the table in annoyance at himself. “I trust you.” 

 

“So why -?” Adam begins, and Ronan cuts him off with another grunt and a shake of his head. 

 

“It’s not about  _ you _ ,” he says, almost harsh, “I’m just - I can’t complain about my life, ok? But it’s -  it’s sometimes smoth- smothering. It’s nice to be - to just - to not have to be  _ me _ sometimes. If I tell you my name I would have to be  _ me _ .” 

 

It’s not a smooth explanation, or even a good one. But it’s probably about as good as Ronan can get when he’s not even sure how to explain it to himself. It’s such a stupid dilemma. Made worse by the fact that it’s his own damn fault he’s in it. 

 

“Ok,” Adam shrugs. He chucks one of the fallen fries back at Ronan, “Sure. You can stick with Aglionby then, raven boy.” 

 

Ronan snorts. They finish the fries, including the ones chucked on the table despite Adam mumbling that they were unsanitary (he ate them anyway). They finish their melted ice watery coke. The head out the back of the diner because it was the wrong time for anyone else to be out there, and it was fenced off, and there was a huge rosemary bush which meant you couldn’t even really smell the dumpster. 

 

Ronan’s pretty sure that he really fucking lucked out with Adam. He could have met found nobody at Mountain view when he turned up there that one time. He could have met a homophobe. He could have met an asshole. He could have met anyone else. Instead, he just somehow managed to stumble upon the best fucking kisser in the entire world. Of course, he might be a little biased, due to the fact that he’d never kissed anyone else. Also due to the fact that Adam’s mouth was on his right, and his hands were cupping Ronan’s face, and his body was pressed firmly against Ronan’s. Pretty damn fucking lucky. 

 

-

 

His dad does get home a few days later, and they do go swimming, and Ronan  _ does _ forgive him, because of course, that’s his dad. He doesn’t manage to dunk him. He does get dunked. On the fourth night that he’s home, he knocks on the bathroom door while Ronan’s brushing his teeth, and then comes in. 

 

“Been talking with your ma,” he tells Ronan. 

 

Ronan spits out his toothpaste, sticks his head under the tap to rinse. 

 

“Figured I should probably talk to you about. Some things you just can’t talk to mamas about, huh?” 

 

Ronan swallows the water, frowns at his father. “We’ve had the sex talk,” he says, “and the speeding talk. And the ‘don’t set things on fire talk’.” 

 

His father clears his throat, and Ronan fidgets by the sink, puts his toothbrush back in the toothbrush cup. 

 

“Well we fucked up with the sex talk, didn’t we?” His father says, his voice is this loud attempt at humourous, “Never talked with you about what to do with another man, now, huh?” 

 

Shitting fuck on a hike. 

 

“Oh God,” Ronan stutters, “we uh - dad -” 

 

Everything is that stupid falling sensation again. With a side helping of everything being on fire. 

 

“Hush up,” Niall says, holding one large hand up. He’s shut the door behind him, and stepped further into the bathroom to hoist himself onto the bathroom counter. It creaks underneath him. “You worried we’re gonna be mad?” he asks bluntly, “Worried we won’t still love you to heaven and hell and back again?” 

 

Ronan kind of wants to throw up. He nods. 

 

“Well then you’re a full blown idiot,” Niall says, “your ma and I aren’t mad. At all. Chin up, boy. Why’d we be mad? Huh? Why’d we stop loving you?” 

 

Ronan shrugs. 

 

“You worried about what God thinks?” Niall asks then, seemingly unconcerned with the fact that he’s asking all the hard hitting gut wrenchingly painful questions Ronan tried to save up for midnights when he couldn’t sleep. 

 

Ronan nods again. 

 

“You know what I think God thinks?” his dad says, loud, “I think God doesn’t give a fuck. I think God loves you no matter the fuck what. Don’t you?” 

 

Ronan nods again. 

 

“Ok,” Niall says, louder still, “good. Good. So. I did a quick bit of googling. Ready for the right version of the sex talk?” 

 

Ronan finds his voice again, puts it back on very quickly. 

 

“Wow,” he says, “holy hell. Uh. No. Thank you. I’m good. I’ve got the gist of it. I mean - shit. I’m not having sex or whatever I just mean that I - I also know how to google things. Ok. Goodnight!” 

 

His dad catches his arm before he can slip out the bathroom door. “Ronan,” he says, very firm, very loud, “I love you a lot. Your ma loves you.” 

 

Ronan clears his throat, is pretty sure there’s no way Matthew and Declan haven’t been hearing every single word of this conversation. “Love you too,” he mumbles to the floor. 

 

Niall releases his arm, then ruffles Ronan’s curls, kisses the crown of his head, and Ronan escapes into his room to breathe heavily into his pillow. 

 

-

 

Going back to school is shitty. He’d gotten used to getting to wear whatever he liked over the summer, and having to stick himself back into the stupid uniform was just disheartening in a very major way. He wished the blood hadn’t washed out of his shirt. He wished he had said yes to Adam’s stupid idea that he switch to Mountain View. He wished he knew Adam’s name. He wished a fuck load of dumb shit. 

 

-

 

His first class is Latin, which he does actually like even if he thinks the teacher is an absolute toad with no personality, and then decides very quickly that he does not like being in Latin either because. A new student is introduced, and he’s this stupidly buff dude with one of those faces that just scream ‘hello, I’m well educated, and my family are probably all politicians, and I don’t believe in gay people or poor people, and I am good at all sports, be my minions. Look at how well I smile.’ His name is stupid as well. Ridiculously long and  _ cultured _ , which is even worse. Somehow, it gets even worse than all that because after he’s been introduced with his dumb as fuck name he chips in with a bright smile that he prefers to just go by ‘Gansey’. Ronan decides he has to hate him. Then.  _ Gansey _ sits right the fuck down in front of Ronan, and swivels in his seat to smile, and holds his hand out, and fucking Roberts in the next desk laughs, elbows Gansey is a comradely way, and says; “Nah, my man. Lynch here doesn’t like people. He likes to sit by himself and pretend he’s better than all the rest of us.”

 

Ronan does not want to  dispute this. He doesn’t. He really doesn’t. 

 

“I am fucking better than the rest of you, Roberts,” he snaps, “why’re you even in this class? You still can’t even get your declensions right and you’ll probably flunk it and have to get your dad to bribe the school to keep you.” 

 

Gansey hasn’t withdrawn his hand. Roberts is glaring at him. Whelk looks like he’s having a migraine. Ronan takes Gansey’s hand. 

 

“I’m fucking Ronan Lynch,” he spits, “and I apparently hate people.” 

 

“Ok,” Gansey says mildly, “so, you’re  _ fucking _ Ronan Lynch, what’s  _ your _ name, then?” 

 

Ronan takes back his decision to hate him, he grins. 

 

-

 

Gansey is ridiculous. He’s in about half of Ronan’s classes, and Ronan has the good luck to have no friends, and therefore nobody in the seat next to him, and gets to sit next to Gansey in all of these classes. Gansey talks at him about old myths and ancient artefacts over lunch, and Ronan talks at him about musical theory during English class, and Gansey invites Ronan to come look at his most recent project after school, and Ronan goes and discovers that this project is the fucking abandoned building in the lot he and Adam had been making out in all Summer. 

 

-

 

He and Adam already had plans to meet up after school, mostly because Adam was taking his first day of school off work, and because Ronan wanted to get to immediately complain about school. Plans change though. Not the meeting up with Adam plan. Adam is already at the park (which isn’t a surprise because Ronan is  _ late _ ) , nestled in long grass by a dilapidated bench that the council was supposed to have repaired or replaced months ago but had apparently abandoned, and Ronan drops himself down next to him. Adam, surrounded by long grass, and scruffy hair, and late afternoon light is just - irresistible. He leans in and kisses him, reaching out to grab onto the front of Adam’s shirt. For a half moment, he can feel Adam hesitating, and then he’s kissing back.

 

“You’re cheerful,” Adam says when he pulls back, “school wasn’t as bad as you thought?” 

 

“I met this complete dumbass,” Ronan says, kisses Adam again, “y’know our abandoned lot?” 

 

“Uh,” Adam says, meets Ronan’s mouth for another kiss, “obviously I do.” 

 

“This dude, Gansey,  _ bought it _ and is going to renovate it into a flat to live in.” 

 

“What?” Adam snorts, “Why?” 

 

“He’s just moved here,” Ronan says, shifts closer to Adam to cup his hands around Adam’s face, “and he does not want to live in the Aglionby dorms. His parents don’t live in town. So like. He’s making his own place.” 

 

“Wow,” Adam says. 

 

“He’s so weird,” Ronan continues, shrugging his bag off because he wants to get more into Adam’s arms and it was getting in the way. “I spent all afternoon at the lot with him actually inside the building. It’s wrecked, man.” 

 

“Wow,” Adam repeats. 

 

Ronan lowers his voice now, says, “I missed you,” kisses Adam again, because, well. He did miss Adam. Missed him prspectively, because Adam had made a rule about not texting during classes, and because they wouldn’t get to meet up as often around school and Adam’s jobs.  

 

“Don’t be dumb,” Adam replies, but he’s smiling, leaning into Ronan’s arms, “I saw you a week ago.” 

 

“Still,” Ronan says. 

  
  


-

  
  


He hangs out with Gansey the rest of the week as well, which is a surprise. He had thought that maybe this would be a one off. Gansey was obviously very well modeled to be a school favourite. He was easy going to talk to, and he joined the school rowing team, and offered to coach as well if need be, and his parents knew a lot of the students’ parents, so there was a match already made, etc, etc. And Gansey did spend time with lots of the other students. He made friends quickly, and enmasse. Half the student population seemed to personally know him by the end of the third day. But. He chose to sit with Ronan during lunch, chose to invite Ronan back to his, chose to invite Ronan, and only Ronan out for pizza. Ronan didn’t like to single himself out for much, but, this was kind of fucking nice. He’d never met anyway he felt he could so easily click with. Never met anyone who was interested in the same sort of topics as him, and happy to listen to him ramble about things that they weren’t interested in. Apart from Adam. But that was different. This was - this, weirdly, felt like it could be the beginning of something more with Adam. Because - because Gansey was his friend now. A week into classes and Gansey was his friend, his fucking firm friend, and Gansey liked Ronan despite the fact that he was Ronan, despite the fact that Ronan was this stupid prickly asshole. He liked Ronan, and if Gansey could like Ronan as Ronan then that gave Ronan this stupid piece of hope that maybe Adam would like Ronan as Ronan. It also gave him this stupid little hope that he could hang out with Gansey and Adam at once. Which would be like his birthday and christmas at the same fucking time. But. Baby steps. Obviously he has to sell Gansey to Adam first, and then, he’d have to work up to telling Gansey about Adam, and then he’d have to work up the courage to suggest to Adam that maybe actually they weren’t just friends but maybe - 

 

-

  
  


“I’m gonna help him move all his furniture and shit into his new place,” Ronan is telling Adam, a few weeks into classes, into being friends with Gansey, on a windy Thursday. “It actually looks kind of cool in there. Gonna be cold as shit in winter though.” 

 

“Uh-huh,” Adam says. 

 

They’re sitting in the park, their new main hook up spot now that the no longer abandoned lot was out of commission. Adam is doing his homework while Ronan lies with his head in Adam’s lap because he wants attention and Adam wants to do his homework. 

 

“He can be really jocky at school,” Ronan continues, because everything he’s saying about Gansey so far isn’t seeming to really catch Adam’s attention, and he wants Adam’s attention to be caught because - well - because he didn’t know how to be subtle about this shit.  “Like, he immediately joined like five sports and all the jocks at school love him, but he’s super…. Like. Sweet. My parents love him -” 

 

“Maybe you should kiss him instead,” Adam says harshly, which is shock enough that Ronan’s ears don’t process it right away.  

 

When he has processed it, determined that he had heard correctly, he looks up at Adam in utter confusion, face twisted. Adam’s face is red. He looks away from Ronan and leans back so he’s not curled over Ronan’s head anymore, stares up at the sky. 

 

“What?” Ronan asks, because, this was not in his plan at all. 

 

“Kiss him,” Adam repeats unhelpfully, voice rough. “He’s so cool. He’s so sweet. You take him to yours. He knows your name. Kiss him.” 

 

“Hey,” Ronan says, sitting up, out of Adam’s lap, and swivelling on his butt to look at Adam, equal parts irritated and confused, “what the hell, man?” 

 

Adam won’t look at him. 

 

“What the hell?” Ronan repeats, “Are you seriously jealous, right now?” 

 

“No,” Adam snaps, “why would I be jealous? We’re not together or anything. I’m just pointing out that it would be nicer for you to hook up with someone more convenient? Or do you want to date him? That sounds more likely.” 

 

“You’re such an asshole,” Ronan snaps back at him. 

 

“Yeah,” Adam agrees, “but Gansey isn’t.”

 

Ronan stares at him. This is the stupidest fucking thing. Adam is so stupid. Ronan was so stupid. His insides felt like they were being minced.  

 

“Fine,” He says after a few painfully long moments of silence, continues with something catastrophically stupid, “maybe I will kiss Gansey then. How do you feel about that?” 

 

“Fine,” Adam says roughly. He shifts forwards so he can snap his homework shut, and starts shuffling everything together to put in his bag. “Completely fine.” 

 

“You wouldn’t give a shit?” Ronan asks loudly, “Even though you’re the one who’s like - who’s like - who’s like kiss crazy?” 

 

“Shut the hell up,” Adam says back, louder, manhandles his bag shut, swings it over his shoulders, “I don’t care. I don’t care. It’s what I expect.” 

 

Ronan has absolutely no clue what to say. He’s worried that if he opens his mouth he won’t be able to control what comes out. He’s so - angry and confused and angry and upset and. He doesn’t know. Adam turns on heel, grabs his bike from where it was propped up against a nearby tree, and speed walks it out of the park. 

 

-

 

Ronan stays where he is for a good five minutes, doing his best to even his breathing, then he sniffs all of his feeling back into his throat, climbs up onto his feet, and makes his way over to Gansey’s place, affectionately (and non affectionately) called ‘Monmouth’ due to the peeled lettering on the building declaring it so. 

 

Gansey is surprised to see him, which isn’t surprising seeing as Ronan had told him he was doing some errands in town and then going home, but he lets Ronan into the building which is full of half unpacked boxes, and listens attentively as Ronan spills the whole fucking story, and doesn’t even call Ronan out for starting with; ‘so my friend met this guy, and -’ 

  
  


-

  
  


Friday. 

 

10:08 PM

-im fucking sorry, ok? 

 

10:30

~why would you be sorry?

 

10:35

-I was trying to make you jealoius.

 

10:38

~asshole.

 

10:42

-i mean he is super cute or whatever and maybe id like to kiss him but like. Man. i wouldnt kiss him when you and me are kissing. 

 

10:50

~we’re not dating. It wouldnt be cheating. 

 

10:55

-itd feel like it. I dont wanna do that. To me or you. 

 

10:57

~gay

~sorry for being a shit head

 

11:00

-same

 

11:01

~i would be jealosu if you kissed him

 

11:02

-i know

-;)

 

11:05

~fuck off

 

11:08

-i missed you. Can we meet up tomorrow? 

 

11:09

~ok. 

 

-

 

They meet up in the evening on Saturday because Adam has work all day, and they meet up in the diner because Adam has work later that evening too and needs to eat if he’s not going home.

 

When Ronan arrives, Adam’s already seated at their usual booth, dressed in grease stained coveralls tied around his waist, and a tight fitting t-shirt. It was probably just too small, but it looked like the kind of thing where models wore too tight shirts to show off their muscles. He slides in next to Adam, grabs a fry from the bowl Adam’s already ordered, and narrows his eyes at Adam. 

 

“What?” Adam says. 

 

“You still mad?” Ronan asks casually. 

 

Adam shrugs. “No.” 

 

“Are you lying?” 

 

“Only a bit. Are you still mad?” 

 

“No,” Ronan says, “and I’m not lying either. Do you  _ want _ to come ‘round to mine?” 

 

“What?” Adam asks, chokes a little. 

 

Ronan shifts uncomfortably. “I mean,” he says, “that’s one of the things you mentioned the other day. Like. Do you want to? I mean -” 

 

“Nah,” Adam says, swallows hard, “I’m - I was being a prick. You can have your freaking privacy, ok? I don’t wanna come ‘round.” 

 

Ronan looks at him for a long moment,  unsure if this was really the answer he wanted, and then shrugs. “Ok,” he says easily, takes more fries, “cool. I’m not gonna kiss Gansey.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says to the table, “cool.” 

 

“Even if we’re not… not dating,” Ronan mumbles, picks at a chip in lacquer on the table, “I’m not gonna do anything with anyone else.  That’s not how I - I have morals, y’know.” 

 

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” Adam says, a slow attempt at lightening the mood. He slips his hand onto Ronan’s knee under the table, squeezes it, sending sparks of warmth up Ronan’s leg and into his stomach. “Same, though. Y’know. I won’t.” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says. He shifts his hand under the table as well, hooks his fingers around Adam’s thumb, “thanks.” 

 

-

 

Things appear to be ok after that. They finished their chips, and Ronan had driven Adam to an empty parking lot near his work and they’d kissed in the front seat until Adam had to go in for his shift, and Adam had texted him again later that night saying he was glad they’d talked about it. 

 

He splits his time between Gansey, Adam, and home. It’s great, because Gansey time is school time, which means school time isn’t too awful, and Adam time in in between time, which is great because, well, because it’s Adam and kissing, and hometime is good. It’s ok. It’s fine. It’s cool when Gansey comes over, because his family likes him and so that’s fun. It’s fine at home. It’s just that Niall had spent so much of the summer away, overseas, travelling, not at home, and he was already gone off again. He’d been home only a short while. Home long enough for Gansey to meet him and think him very cool, not home long enough for Ronan to feel ok about him going again. Long enough for Niall to give his sons a few more boxing lessons, not long enough that Aurora doesn’t look absolutely devastated when he leaves. Ronan isn’t sure how he’s supposed to feel about it. 

 

He meets up with Adam. He wrestles with the idea of telling Adam his name. Because it would be so easy, “my name’s Ronan. You already know I’m an asshole. Be my boyfriend?’. Maybe just the first bit for starters. 

 

He meets up with Gansey. Gansey tells him that maybe his friend should just try telling this guy the truth about how they feel? Ronan groans a lot. 

 

He cooks with his mother, plays guitar with Matthew, boxes with Declan. 

 

He wakes up one morning to the distinct feeling that he’d heard his father’s BMW at some point recently, last night? This morning? And goes downstairs barefoot, out into the driveway barefoot, into a puddle of blood barefoot. 

 

He’s not entirely sure what happens next. Just that he’s looking at his father and his father is so smashed in Ronan can almost convince himself that it isn’t his father and it isn’t his father and it isn’t his father and then Declan is there and he’s saying stuff and then Aurora is there and she’s speaking too, or crying too, or something, and Declan is yelling at Matthew to stay in the house, and then Ronan is in the house too and there’s blood on his hands, and his knees, and his feet. He only realises there’s blood on his face when Declan takes a warm flannel to it. 

 

Then there’s police. Flashing lights. Ambulances. Low voices talking seriously everywhere. Throwing up. Crying. Possibly him crying, possibly his mother. 

 

The whole day is a blur. A blur of statements being made and taken. Of blankets being put on Ronan’s shoulders and Ronan throwing them off. Of Matthew curled up in his mother’s arms crying and crying and crying and Ronan feeling sick of himself feeling jealous of Matthew for being where he wants to be, and Declan acting like he’s a million years older than he is, and - 

 

It’s a blur. 

 

The second day is not much easier. But at least the blood has been washed out of the driveway by a sudden downpour of rain overnight. At least there isn’t a crushed father in it the driveway. At least Ronan’s hands are clean. 

 

On the third day, more statements are made. There are a lot of men shaking their heads. Matthew is still crying. Declan is still acting too old. All of them forget lunch. In the evening, they go St Agnes. His mother wants to pray. None of them want to be apart. Ronan lasts an hour. Two hours. Matthew is still crying. Declan is dry faced. Ronan lasts one more hour and then he kisses his mother and he escapes the church and steps out into the steadily falling night and starts walking. He isn’t going anywhere. He’s just walking. Just moving. He can’t think. He can’t think because if he thinks his legs will stop working and he’ll collapse or implode and he can’t do that right now. He walks. He’s glad of the dark because he can’t tell his eyes to turn the taps off, and he’s glad of the dark because it makes him feel like he could be asleep right now and he could wake up any moment. His phone buzzes in his jacket pocket, and he doesn’t remember putting it there. Thinks it must have been there for a few days. Thinks it’s a fucking miracle it hadn’t died. Thinks; ‘what a waste of a fucking shitting miracle’. 

 

It’s Declan. A short text. A, ‘where are you text’. Ronan doesn’t know where he is. Well. He does. He turns on heel to go back to St Agnes. 

 

He has six unread messages. Five of them from Adam. Two from Gansey. 

 

He texts Adam. He’s not sure what he says in his texts, he’s not sure exactly what Adam replies. He didn’t even look at Adam’s previous texts. All he gets out of the exchange is that Adam is close by and Adam is where Ronan is going now. 

 

-

 

Adam looks extremely confused when he opens the door to the side of the garage at Boyd’s, which, was fair Ronan guessed, seeing as it was a rather out of the blue arrival - particularly because he knew his face was tear streaked. 

 

“Wh-” Adam begins, but Ronan gets in first by stepping forwards to kiss him hard. Adam lets Ronan kiss him for a few moments, pulling them inside and closing the door while they kiss, and then when Ronan pulls them back against the door, pulling Adam into pushing him up against it because he needs to pressure to ground him, Adam pulls away and tries again. “What’s going on?” he tries, “You don’t text me back for a couple of days and now - now this?” 

 

Ronan shakes his head, because what the hell is he supposed to say? He tries to kiss Adam again, but Adam evades easily.. 

 

“What’s goin’ on?” He tries again, softer, tugs at Ronan so he can wrap his arms around Ronan’s waist in a firm hug, “What’s wrong?” 

 

Ronan shakes his head again, opens his mouth to say something, chokes on a sob, tips himself forward to press his face in against Adam’s shoulder. He doesn’t have the fucking words to be able to calmly tell Adam what’s wrong, what’s happened, and he doesn’t want to explain it in a fit of hysterics. He just wants to be held until he wakes up and finds out it was all a fucking dream, and Adam is the best bet for that. Adam doesn’t push him away, doesn’t push him to speak. Just holds onto him tightly, rocking him slightly, breathing evenly against Ronan’s ear while Ronan soaks the shoulder of Adam’s coveralls.

 

“It’s ok,” Adam says quietly after a few long minutes of Ronan trying to stop fucking sobbing on him, “you’re ok.” 

 

“It’s not ok,” Ronan gets out, more of a sob than anything, “it’s not ok, it’s not ok. It’s never gonna be ok.” 

 

Adam’s breathing is shaky now, but he says; “It will be, not now, I guess, but. It will be eventually. You’ll be ok.” 

 

Ronan shakes his head, keeps shaking it. It’s like he’s forgotten how to stop his head from shaking. He’s all but clawing at Adam’s back because he feels like he’s going to fucking disappear if he doesn’t hold on, and God  _ damn _ grief was shitting fucking him up. Adam reaches around himself to capture Ronan’s hands, pulls them in between them and bundles Ronan up against his chest, arms around Ronan’s shoulders. It definitely isn’t everything Ronan needs, because the very top of Ronan’s list of needs is for his father to not be dead, but. It’s something that Ronan needs. He relaxes in against Adam’s chest, focuses on the weight of Adam’s arms around him. Doesn’t try and fight the tears. Matches his breathing with Adam’s while Adam rubs his back slowly. 

 

His phone rings.

  
“Do you need to get that?” Adam asks, and Ronan shakes his head, then hesitates, then nods. The phone stops buzzing. “You could call back?” Adam asks. 

 

“Nah,” Ronan sighs, “he’ll call again in a moment.” 

 

He peels himself away from Adam, pulls his phone out of his back pocket, and holds it up. It starts to buzz again. He  answers. Or. He presses the answer button and holds the phone to his ear, but he doesn’t say anything. 

 

It’s Declan. He speaks quickly, and briskly, and he doesn’t impart good news. Ronan is worried that if he lets his face make any emotion, he’ll just collapse into a fucking mess again.

 

“You ok?” Adam asks. 

 

Ronan doesn’t look at him, just stares at the floor for a long moment. “I have to go,” he says, “there’s something - there’s something wrong with mum.” 

 

“Oh,” Adam says. 

 

Ronan lifts his head to look at Adam, then steps forward again quickly and presses himself hard against Adam’s front, kissing him roughly, trying, selfishly, to get as much comfort as he fucking can. 

 

“Thanks,” he mumbles, when he pulls away, wiping at his mouth. 

 

“It’s all good,” Adam replies. 

 

Ronan leaves. Goes back to St Agnes. There’s a fucking ambulance. A fucking ambulance. Matthew is crying. 

  
  


-

  
  


The doctors aren’t very useful. Declan does most of the talking to them. Matthew does most of the crying. Ronan wants to scream that broken hearts shouldn’t be able to physically incapacitate anyone. That his mother was stronger than that. He doesn’t scream it, and his mother stays in a medically induced coma because her body had decided it didn’t want to work anymore. 

 

They have a funeral for their father. Their mother can’t come. They bury their father. Gansey is there with him because Declan had told him what was happening. Ronan doesn’t feel present in his own body. 

 

He takes his father’s keys the night of the funeral. He drives the BMW out of town. He buys alcohol with his father’s ID from a careless clerk. He drives out over the hills and into the night and he bumps the car into trees when he brakes, and he drinks a pack of beer on the hood of the car and he throws it all up by the side of the road, and he sleeps in the backseat. 

 

He wakes up to missed calls and texts and his phone vibrating with more phone calls. 

 

He drives back down the hills. He turns his phone off and leaves it in the backseat. He drives the outskirts of Henrietta. He recognises the beginning of a race. He joins in. He doesn’t lose. He gets piss drunk. Declan finds him. Drags him home. Can’t keep him home. 

 

Ronan walks all the way into town, because just because Declan has all the keys doesn’t mean he can keep Ronan any-fucking-where. He’s raided the alcohol cupboard at home. He drinks whiskey straight on the steps of St Agnes. He walks to Boyd’s. Realises it’s midnight and Adam is not there. Drinks more. Walks to Monmouth. Is so tired. Gansey lets him in. Lets him vomit in his toilet. Holds his curls back and strokes his hair until Ronan’s finished vomiting and crying. 

 

He wakes up feeling like shit, throat stinging, eyes stinging, lips cracked. Gansey is on the same bed as him, on top of the blankets, glasses still on. 

 

Declan arrives at noonish. Gansey is trying to persuade Ronan to drink water. Declan is trying to demand that Ronan come home with him immediately. Ronan feels like he’s going to die. Gansey speaks in a careful and firm voice, suggests in a way that isn’t really a suggestion, that maybe Declan could let Ronan stay here for a while. Gives Declan his phone number. Promises to keep in close touch. Declan swears at Ronan a little. Ronan doesn’t fucking cry until Declan’s car is gone. Gansey strokes his hair. Ronan decides he can’t. He can’t. He can’t bear to have his hair stroked because - just because - but he doesn’t want Gansey to stop, so they drive into town and Gansey buys an electric shaver and Ronan locks himself in the bathroom and shaves haphazardly and drinks the rest of the whiskey he’d managed to sneak in with him. Gansey persuades him to unlock the door, rubs his uneven hair, shaves the rest for him, has to shave it right down to the scalp to make it even. Tugs the whiskey away. 

 

Life does not become magically easier without hair. 

 

Life takes a long time to become even a little bit ok. 

 

Life slam dunks him over and over again until Ronan wants to just be fucking crushed and finished and be done with it all and he’s nicked more booze and he’s just that edge of out of it to not care at all, so he tries to finish it. 

 

-

 

It’s a slow process after that. Declan yells a lot, and he cries a little, and Matthew cries a lot, and Ronan cries and yells a lot. He has to make a fuck load of promises to a fuck load of people, and he has to be watched and he has to be looked after, and he has to let Declan be in charge and he hates it. 

 

Declan gives him his phone, recovered from the backseat of the BMW. Tells him he can have the BMW too, if he can make it a full month following the new rules. 

 

There are so many texts from Adam. So many that it eats him up with shame. Because Adam is worried, and scared, and hurt, and angry, and Ronan is incapable of feeling anything right now apart from shame and anger. 

 

At the very least, he gets to stay with Gansey. He spends the first week of staying with Gansey being very ashamed, because it’s obvious Gansey doesn’t want him there, and then Gansey all but straight-jackets him in a full body hug and repeats that he wants Ronan there with him until Ronan is sick of hearing it, and he goes to sleep in the bed they’d bought for the room Gansey was calling ‘Ronan’s room’. 

 

He re-reads all his texts to and from Adam over and over until he could quote them all by heart, and he still can’t get over this fucking wall of guilt and shame and anger, and also grief because he’s feeling that again now. 

 

He isn’t allowed to get drunk anymore, isn’t allowed to drink at all anymore, so he goes out and gets his ears pierced, and then goes back to Monmouth and Gansey lectures him about how he shouldn’t get his ears pierced with a piercing gun because it’s bad for your ears and not great for the piercing healing process and all that, so Ronan makes an appointment to a ‘proper’ piercing salon, and drags Gansey with him, and gets his cartilage pierced on both sides as well with a proper needle, and Gansey winces but doesn’t look away. 

 

Sometimes he feels snippets of joy now as well. 

 

Adam calls him. Two months in. And Ronan holds onto his phone and shakes while it vibrates, and swears and shakes and swears and wants to answer, but what the hell would he say? How does he explain himself? How does he say that he hadn’t been able to talk to anybody without them forcing him to? That he hadn’t meant to cut Adam out of his life but he had meant to cut himself out of everyone’s life. He doesn’t know how. He still doesn’t know how by the time the call ends. 

 

He gets Gansey to reshave his head, back down to the scalp. Gansey tells him it’s like rubbing a kiwifruit. 

 

Declan drives the BMW over for him.

 

-

 

It’s three months in. Three months and three weeks. Nothing about his father dying and his mother stopping is better. Thinking about either of these things still feel like being flayed. But. So long as he can keep himself from thinking about them, he thinks he’s ok. He’s ok. He’s going to school again, possibly only so Declan will let him stay with Gansey, but also because Gansey wants him to, and maybe also because Ronan needs it to keep his mind off of everything else. He knows his classmates have been well versed on what’s happened, because Matthew had already returned to school, and so had Declan, so everyone knew about their parents, and about Ronan’s breakdown. He isn’t sure if it’s due to Declan’s or Gansey’s influence that nobody brings it up, but he’s bitterly grateful anyway. 

 

Gansey helps him write the longest text he’s ever written. The hardest one too, because it means he has to think about the shit he isn’t thinking about so he can explain it. It’s the longest, and most fucking heartfelt thing he’s ever typed out and it does not get a response. It does not get a response. Not even a ‘idc’ or something else awful. Just nothing. Which is quite honestly worse than awful. He waits a month. Just in case. Because he’s a stupid piece of shit. Then he deletes every single fucking text. Deletes Adam’s number. Drives the BMW for four hours to get a massive tattoo. Answers Declan’s phone call during the tattoo, knows that even if Declan starts driving to try and stop him right now, he won’t get here before the tattoo is finished. 

 

-

 

A kid called Noah joins Aglionby. Ronan does his best to resist Gansey doing his best to persuade Ronan into doing a joint friending of him, and then gives in because Gansey was holding the razer and threatening to draw a dick in his hair with it. Noah turns out to be kinda fucking cool. Gansey drew the dick anyway, but it was worth it. 

 

-

 

A year passes, and Ronan’s scars are still visible, but no longer so angry looking, and his tattoo has become common place on his body, and his hair stays shaved, and he stays with Gansey because that’s where he feels safe now, and things aren’t  _ okay _ but they’re ok. Which is enough. 

 

It’s enough until a new term of Aglionby starts, and it starts out badly because he had a really shitty night the previous night because he’d dreamed about his parents, and it had been one of his falling dreams, and he’d snapped at Gansey when Gansey had woken him, and then he’d felt awful, and got into the shower and refused to get out and Gansey had gone to school without him and he missed first period because he was busy being an asshole who probably shouldn’t have any friends. 

 

He makes up with Gansey immediately, because there’s no point in not and because he is sorry, and Gansey nudges his shoulder in immediate forgiveness, because there’s no point in not, and the day passes with a dreary drudge of a day following a nightmare, and then he thinks that maybe he actually is in a nightmare because. 

 

Because he walks into Latin class, and walks past a very familiar head of hair, and a very familiar pair of hands, and he doesn’t stop because Gansey is pushing him from behind, so he sits down at his desk and stares. And then. And then  _ Adam _ is turning around in his seat and looking at Gansey, and then, and then looking at Ronan and there is just no expression on his face at all. He looks straight at Ronan, and then turns back around in his seat. 

 

He looks straight at Ronan. 

 

And then. 

 

Turns back around in his seat. 

 

Ronan is pretty sure he must still be in the fucking nightmare because that dumb as shitt ass fuck falling feeling is burning the lining of his stomach. 

 

It somehow manages to get worse. Whelk comes in, which is bad enough because the last year had not given Whelk a personality. Whelk calls the roll. Whelk calls for an ‘Adam Parrish’. Adam. Ronan’s Adam. Ronan’s fucking ‘Adam’ lifts his hand. Ronan can’t help himself, he exhales harshly, unsure whether the tightness in his chest is anger or betrayal, or what. Whatever it is is loud, and everyone around him turns to look. Including Adam. He drops his head onto his arms on the desk as he sees Adam’s head start to turn. He doesn’t want to have to see his blank expression again.

 

“Something to say, Lynch?” Carruthers calls from across the room. 

 

Ronan has a fucking lot to say. But he’s not going to say it in class. Probably he’s not going to say it ever at all. What he does do, is lift one of his arms up to pull the finger in Adam’s general direction. The class laughs as if anything in this situation is funny.

 

“Ronan,” Gansey hisses, “what the hell?” 

 

Roan does not answer, because there’s no point. 

 

When the bell rings, he’s made up his mind. There’s no point in saying what the hell was to Gansey until he’d said what the hell was to Adam. He’s up out of his seat and stalking to stand in front of Adam’s desk before anyone else is really even moving. 

 

“Ronan,” Gansey calls disapprovingly from behind them, but Ronan ignores this in favour of rapping his knuckles harshly on the top of Adam’s desk. 

 

Adam does not look up at him. He stares, eyebrows raised at Ronan’s hands. He ignores the rapping, shuts his book, begins to put his stuff into his bag. 

 

“Seriously?” Ronan asks, because this was almost worse than Adam just looking and turning away.

 

Adam shrugs. 

 

“Fuck you,” Ronan spits, and leaves, just as Gansey joins him at the desk. 

 

“Oh,” he hears Gansey say, “I’m sorry about Ronan.” 

 

“It’s whatever,” Adam says. 

 

It’s whatever, Ronan tells himself. Fucks the fuck off. 

  
  


-

 

“What the hell was that all about?” Gansey demands when they’re both back at Monmouth later that afternoon.

 

Ronan, intent on shredding his entire Maths book in one sitting, does not answer. 

 

“Seriously, Ronan,” Gansey says, “that was super shitty. Parrish has been having a hard enough time on his first day here with everyone else giving him shit for being here on scholarship, he didn’t need your mood swings as well.” 

 

“Maybe he deserves a hard time,” Ronan snaps. 

 

Gansey snatches the Maths book from him. He was only up to chapter three of shredding. “Don’t be an ass,” he snaps right back. 

 

Ronan climbs up onto his feet, intent on grabbing the book back, or yelling, or something. 

 

“I am an ass,” he growls at Gansey, “I am. I’m an asshole. I’m not worth shit. Let me be a shit head in fucking peace.” 

 

Gansey stares. He just looks fucking exhausted. Ronan is fucking exhausted. And embarrassed. 

 

“Ronan,” Gansey says. 

 

Ronan does not want to hear Gansey say anything more here, especially if he’s about to tell Ronan that he isn’t an asshole. He shakes his head, goes to his room, slams the door, gets into bed. 

 

-

 

The following days is surprisingly worse. Because Adam is in his Science class and there’s nothing Ronan can fucking do about it. He has to sit through a whole class of Adam being clever and also ignoring Ronan, and then he has to go to his next class as if he doesn’t feel like his heart has been broken again and again and again, and then another class where he pretends the same thing, and so on so forth, and then Latin with Adam, and at least Adam doesn’t speak up much in this class but - God - Ronan often does and he doesn’t want to now because then Adam might look at him and Ronan can’t fucking bear it. 

 

-

 

“Ronan,” Gansey says, “dude,” he says, “Ro. You’re starting to seriously worry me. You’ve been… catatonic all week. What’s going on?” 

 

“Nothing,” Ronan says, a little muffled because he’s lying face down on the couch. “I’m fine.” 

 

“Ro,” Gansey says, sits down by Ronan’s legs on the couch, reaches out to press his palm between Ronan’s shoulder blades, “please.” 

 

“I don’t like Adam,” Ronan says into the cushion. 

 

He doesn’t want to expand. Maybe he ought to. Maybe he should tell Gansey that Adam is  _ his _ Adam, but, but, but. He doesn’t know what follows the but. He just knows he doesn’t want to say anything. This here is his own private grief. 

 

“Why?” Gansey asks, and then hits the nail very almost on the head, “Oh,” he says, “is it because his name is Adam?” 

 

Close enough, honestly, Ronan thinks, so he says; “Yes.” 

 

“Ro,” Gansey says, voice soft, hand firm, “I understand, but that’s a really shitty reason to be mean to someone. I’ve chatted with Parrish a lot the last few days. He’s really nice. Really clever. I honestly think you’d like him if you just got to know him a bit better.” 

 

“No,” Ronan grits out. 

 

“We could just refer to him as Parrish, that might help as well,” Gansey suggests. 

 

“No,” Ronan says, pretends his voice didn’t break. 

 

Gansey doesn’t push it. 

 

“Did you want me to shave your head again tonight?” he asks. 

 

-

 

Ronan tries. He does. He honestly fucking does. He keeps his head down in class. He ignores Adam. He does his best not to cry loudly at night because the goal is to not cry at all and that’s close enough for now. He does get into fights outside of class though. Mostly with fucking Kavinsky. Mostly with fucking Kavinsky because Kavinsky has this irritatingly unerring knack of knowing exactly when Ronan is feeling the shittiest, and calling him out on it. On prodding in all Ronan’s sore places. Usually this just turns into a verbal spat, or maybe a bit of fucking jostling in the hallways, but. Well. Occasionally it turned into a full on fist fight because Kavinsky was that fucking annoying. 

 

He gets in a couple of good hits before Gansey appears out of no-fucking-where, pulling Kavinsky away, and then there’s a hand on him, pulling him back. He shakes it off quickly because he has half a mind to follow Gansey as he hauls Kavinsky’s skinny ass off, and adding in just one more quick hit to show just how serious he was about how much he didn’t appreciate Kavinsky mouthing off about his mother, but he makes the mistake of turning to look at who pulled him back. 

 

It’s Adam. 

 

It’s Adam. 

 

It’s fucking Adam.

 

“Chill,” Adam says. 

 

Ronan swallows, feels like he’s swallowing a jagged rock. Feels like his throat is closing up. Feels like if he opens his mouth blood would pour out. Opens it anyway. Says; “You are such a fucking worthless shit head asshole motherfuck,  _ Adam  _ fucking Parrish.” 

 

Adam just looks at him. Ronan leaves. 

 

-

 

He ends up suspended, which is fine, he doesn’t care. Declan turns up and yells at him for being suspended, which is fine, he doesn’t care. Gansey lectures him for being an idiot, which is fine, he doesn’t care. 

 

What he does care about is the fact that having Adam so close still makes his fucking heart leap and his head hopeful. That he’s a stupid fucking idiot who’s still caught up on someone who doesn't give a shit about him. That he’s a walking cliche or a moron. That he still wants Adam to touch him. That he’s so upset right now and wanting Adam to be the one to comfort him and that is so fucking shitting pissing annoying. 

 

-

 

Gansey comes back home straight after school the next day, which is surprising because he’s meant to be coaching. He comes straight back home and he sits down next to Ronan on the couch with his guitar and he puts his arms around Ronan. 

 

“What the fuck, man?” Ronan asks, “Not that I don’t appreciate the hug or whatever, but I was rocking out.” 

 

“I talked to Adam,” Gansey whispers, “well. He talked to me.” 

 

Ronan puts his guitar to one side. Gansey doesn’t let go of him. 

 

“Why didn’t you tell me it was him?” Gansey asks, he sounds equal parts hurt and confused, “This must have been so shit for you.” 

 

“I don’t know,” Ronan admits. It’s not really an answer, but it’s answer enough for Gansey. 

 

“I don’t think,” Gansey says slowly, “I don’t think he realised it was you, Ronan. He seemed - he seemed surprised.” 

 

“He can’t have not realised it was me,” Ronan scoffs, “I’ve had a haircut. I still look the fucking same. I recognised him from his hands and hair the moment I walked into Latin that first day. How the hell did he not recognise me? He looked right at me.” 

 

“I don’t know,” Gansey says, “that’s just - that’s just what he implied.” 

 

Ronan shakes his head, Gansey continues. 

 

“He also,” he says, still slow, “he also says you ended it. So I guess -” 

 

“I guess my fucking long as shit text didn’t mean fuck all to him,” Ronan says, loudly so as not to let his voice fucking quiver or some shit. 

 

Gansey shrugs. “He thought we were dating,” he tells Ronan. 

 

Ronan snorts. 

 

“And he said he wasn’t gay,” Gansey adds. 

 

Ronan feels like he could punch a fucking wall. Two walls. All the fucking walls. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Gansey says, “you were right to not want me to talk to him.” 

 

Ronan doesn’t feel like he’s been right about anything ever. He shakes his head. 

 

-

 

He spends the weekend building a very impractical ramp for the BMW in the lot with Noah, and then joyriding around the hills with Noah and Gansey, and then visiting his mother with his brothers. Two out of three things were enjoyable. All three things kept his mind off Adam. The problem with weekends, however, was that they ended very quickly, and at the end of the weekend was monday, which meant that Ronan would have to go back to school and see Adam again. 

 

He skips Science. He doesn’t want to face Adam first thing in the morning. 

 

He doesn’t even glimpse Adam all morning. Then lunch period comes, and he’s sitting at a picnic table by the field with Gansey and Noah and attempting to act as if he’s a person with no issues whatsoever, and Gansey points out that Adam is approaching their table. Ronan abandons the act of having no issues, swings his legs over the seat, and departs quickly. 

 

“Shit,” he hears Adam groan, “Selk- Ronan. Wait. Please. Fuck. Wait.” 

 

Ronan does not wait. He, in fact, speeds up. There isn’t really anywhere to go, unless he’s planning on vaulting the high stone wall, but he keeps going anyway. He reaches the wall ahead, but does not leap over it. Instead, he turns and leans against it, shoulder to the stone, chin to his chest. Adam catches up. 

 

“You can’t really expect me to believe you looked me right in the face on the first day of school and didn’t recognise me,” Ronan says roughly, “or that you heard me speak and didn’t recognise me. Should I have kissed you instead? Would you have recognised my tongue?” 

 

“Selkie,” Adam says, and that kind of hurts. “You can’t really believe I’m the one at fault when you’re the one who just dropped off the face of the planet. I thought you were dead. I thought you’d moved away. I thought you hated me. Now you really do hate me, so, ha, great I guess.” 

 

“Did you come over here to yell at me?” Ronan asks. His chin is still to his chest. He can’t bear for Adam to see his face right now, not when Ronan’s having a fucking hard time keeping his emotions in check.

 

“Yes,” Adam admits, “in part. If I’m an asshole for not recognising you, you’re an asshole for - for ghosting me.” 

 

“You’re the one who always said we weren’t dating,” Ronan snaps, “I can’t have ghosted you if we weren’t together, right?” 

 

“Don’t be a shit head,” Adam growls, “you could have at least texted back to say we were done.” 

 

“We weren’t done,” Ronan says, snaps. He clears his throat. “I didn’t want us to be done.” 

 

“Well geez,” Adam drawls, “you not texting back for three months sure felt like you wanted to stay together, yeah.” 

 

Ronan clears his throat again. He’s so slumped against the wall. “You’re right,” he says roughly. “The first three months was on me. You didn’t reply when I texted you after that, though. You chose to ignore me then. I poured my fucking heart out to you and you ignored it. If you didn’t have anything to say then I doubt you have anything to say now.” 

 

“I didn’t get any texts,” Adam says. 

 

“Don’t be a shit,” Ronan replies to his feet. 

 

“No,” Adam says, “I didn’t get any texts. I - my phone was - it - my parents took it. Changed the sim. No texts got through to me.”

 

Ronan looks at him. Adam’s face is doing complicated things.

 

“I’ve no fucking clue what you could’ve said to me that would have made up for three months of ignoring me though,” Adam says, “fuck, Ronan.” 

 

Ronan laughs, hollow, drops his chin back to his chest. 

 

“Go on then,” Adam says, “do you wanna explain?” 

 

“No,” Ronan says, “I really, really don’t. Once was enough.” 

 

“Right,” Adam says, “right. Ok. Fine.” 

 

“That night,” Ronan says, “before I stopped texting.” 

 

Adam nods slightly.

 

“Was one of the worst days of my life,” Ronan continues, “another contender for worst days of my life were the days just before.” He’s speaking stiffly because if he doesn’t, he’s not going to be able to get the words out. Maybe he should just mime it. How the hell do you mime a coma? 

 

“Why?” Adam asks.

 

“My dad died,” Ronan says, very, very simply, “and then my mum - my mum never came right. I was real - really fucked up,” he’s back to speaking to the ground, “I couldn’t get to grips with it. I lost control. I couldn’t text you because I couldn’t bear to do anything that wasn’t destructive, and then I couldn’t text you because I turned my phone off and lost it so my brother couldn’t get in contact with me, and then I couldn’t because I was so - so ashamed. And when I finally got over my shame enough to do something about it, you didn’t text back.” 

 

Adam isn’t replying. He’s just shoved his hands in his pockets, is breathing unevenly. 

 

“Does that fucking make up for it, then?” Ronan asks. He doesn’t know what he wants to hear. He knows what he wants to hear. He knows. 

 

“Yeah,” Adam mumbles, then, “I didn’t come here to find you.” 

 

“What the fuck?” Ronan says. 

 

“I mean,” Adam swallows hard, “coming to Aglionby. I came here to look good on my university applications. I wasn’t hunting you down.” 

 

Ronan laughs roughly. Adam swallows again. 

 

“I can’t believe your real fucking name is ‘Adam’,” Ronan says, “how fucking unoriginal.” 

 

“Couldn’t beat Selkie,” Adam mumbles, “so I didn’t even try.” 

 

“Ronan means little seal,” Ronan says, “so I wasn’t being super original either.” 

 

Adam laughs. Ronan, being the dumbass he is, missed that laugh so fucking much.

 

“Are you and Gansey together?” 

 

“What the fuck?” Ronan says, amused and pissed off at once, “Seriously? You’re still on that shit?” 

 

Adam shrugs. “I heard someone say you were together,” he says. 

 

Ronan eyes him shrewdly, “And you’re still jealous about that,” he says, “that still makes you all asshole pissy.” 

 

Adam shrugs again. 

 

“What do you think is going to happen here?” Ronan asks, “You think we’re going to have this moment where we realise the last year has just been a big mistake and neither of us were at fault and then we’ll just go straight back to being friends with benefits?” 

 

“No,” Adam says, “no that can’t happen. I know that.” 

 

This was not what Ronan had wanted to hear. Maybe it’s what he had expected.

 

“Because you’re not gay?” Ronan asks, and Adam grimaces. 

 

“I’m not gay,” Adam sighs, “I’m not,” he adds at Ronan’s twisted expression, “we never talked about sexuality or whatever. You know? I’m bi. I think. That’s the word, yeah? I like girls and guys?” 

 

“Right,” Ronan snorts, “ok fine. So. Whatever.” 

 

“Ronan,” Adam says, frowns, “Selkie,” he tries instead, Ronan closes his eyes, “what do you even want me to say, here?” 

 

“The truth,” Ronan says immediately, feels like maybe that’s a lie. He keeps his eyes closed, “did you even miss me?” 

 

“You’re an asshole,” Adam groans, “of course I did.” 

 

“Say it,” Ronan grits out, teeth clenched together. 

 

“I missed you,” Adam says blandly, “I missed you, ok? I missed you for three months. I missed you for a year. I missed you every fucking day. How dumb is that, huh? I missed my hookup buddy so much it fucking hurt. Ok? Is that enough truth?” 

 

Turns out wanting to hear the truth wasn’t a lie.

 

“No,” Ronan says, opens his eyes again. “I can always do with hearing more about how much you missed me.” 

 

“Asshole,” Adam reiterates. 

 

“I missed you too, obviously,” Ronan says, gruff, “me and Gansey aren’t together. Surprise. You’re still the one and only person I’ve ever fucking even kissed. Happy?” 

 

“No,” Adam says, “I can always do with hearing more about how you’ve only even been with me.” 

 

“You’re so - “ Ronan cuts himself off to huff angrily, “- piss pleased with yourself,” he finishes, “jealous,” he amends, then, “if you’re still jealous does that mean you still -” 

 

“What,” Adam snorts, “after a year? A year of not seeing you? You think I still want to just - to just - to just kiss you? Just like that?” 

 

Ronan scowls at him. “Yes,” he says, “I think you do.” 

 

“I can’t do that again,” Adam says, which is like a fucking heartbreak again. “I can’t. I can’t do the hookup thing again. Not like that.” 

 

Ronan does his shitting best not to let his face betray how he feels. He feels like punching the wall.

 

“I can’t do hookups,” he says again, Ronan’s face twitches and Adam speaks quicker. “Because I don’t like you like  _ that _ . I like you in the way I wanna take you out on dates and call them dates.” 

 

Ronan’s silent for a while, then he says; “What, after a year? A year of not seeing you?” 

 

Adam rolls his eyes at his own words being tossed back at him. He nods. 

 

“You wanna fucking date?” Ronan says, “What the hell changed your mind? You didn’t want to date last year.” 

 

“I’ve grown a lot in a year,” Adam says, “enough to admit that that’s what I want.” 

 

“You’ve grown  _ up _ a bit too,” Ronan says, “You’re almost as tall as me now.” 

 

“Uh-huh,” Adam says, “c’mon, then. Are we gonna date?” 

 

“You’re actually serious?” Ronan demands, “you’re asking this seriously?” 

 

“Dick head.” 

 

“Whatever,” Ronan says, drawls it like it’s of no consequence, “let’s try the dating thing out. Probably you’re gonna hate me now and we’ll figure it out after a couple of dates, but let’s try.” 

 

“Shit,” Adam groans, “you’re such an optimist.” 

 

“So they tell me,” Ronan says, pushes away from the wall and steps away past Adam back towards the way they’d come, “c’mon, Gansey’s probably worrying.” 

 

“What?” Adam asks, turning to watch Ronan walk off. 

 

“If we’re starting this, you’re gonna have to come have lunch with us,” Ronan says over his shoulder, “it’s the rules.” 

 

“Whatever,” Adam grumbles. 

 

They have lunch together. Gansey does not ask the million questions very obviously sitting in his mouth. Ronan pokes Adam in the thigh maybe forty times. Noah asks about twenty of the questions that Gansey is not asking. Nothing is answered properly. Ronan informs Adam that Adam is coming over to Monmouth after school. Adam informs Ronan that actually Adam is working after school. Ronan decides that Adam is coming to Monmouth after work. Adam agrees that that is in fact what is happening. Gansey appears confused. Noah appears delighted. 

 

-

 

They have to split up for class, but after the last bell Ronan bumps himself against Adam at the, shoulder to shoulder as they leave the class. 

 

“You remember how to get there, yeah?” 

 

“Don’t be a dick,” Adam snorts, “I remember how to get there. It wasn’t that long ago.”

 

“You sure?” Ronan presses, “Because I could come pick you up.” 

 

“Huh,” Adam says, pauses them in the hallway. Gansey bumps into Ronan from behind. “Ok.” 

 

“What time?” Ronan asks, reaching around himself to steady Gansey who’s grumbling slightly. “Boyd’s?” 

 

“Uh-huh,” Adam says, “six.” 

 

“Cool,” Ronan says, “see you then, shit head.” 

 

He leaves quickly, before he can say anything else dumb. Because he is likely to if he stays. He doesn’t know where he is with Adam. Where is emotions are with Adam. All of a sudden it’s like all this shitting anger and grief about it has all been for nothing, but he has no place to put it all down, but he’s also always been fucking carrying about all the want for Adam. And. God. it was a mess. 

 

-

 

He arrives at Boyd’s too early. Refuses to be embarrassed about it. Sits in his car until Adam comes out. Watches as Adam pauses as he takes in the BMW.

 

He gets into the passenger seat. 

 

“This is such an Aglionby car,” Adam grumbles. 

 

“It isn’t,” Ronan says, “because I actually know how to fucking drive it and all those bastards are too scared to do anything more than party tricks in their shit garbage cars.” 

 

“Wow ok,” Adam snorts, “I didn’t know you were a car boy, jeez.” 

 

“You gotta get with my car,” Ronan says, revving said car, “if you wanna be my lover.” 

 

“God,” Adam groans, scrabbles for the seat belt, “come on then.” 

 

“So,” Ronan says, barely waiting for Adam to do his seat belt up as he skids out of the parking lot, “I was thinking. That grassy spot behind the building.” 

 

“What,” Adam grunts. 

 

“It’s still a good place for making out,” Ronan says to the windscreen. “I mean. I’m guessing it is. I haven’t tried it. But. It looks the same.” 

 

“I thought we were gonna try this out before we start making out again?” Adam says, eyebrows raised. 

 

He shifts in his seat, and then Ronan is very aware that he is being  _ looked  _ at. Very thoroughly. He can all but feel Adam’s eyes tracing down his profile, skimming over his cheekbones. Ronan gives this about ten seconds, then he has to break it. 

 

“Are you done staring?” He grunts. 

 

“I was waiting for an answer,” Adam says, a blatant lie, “about the waiting thing.” 

 

“Hm,” Ronan says. “Making out could be trying it out.” 

 

“I don’t want to do it that way this time,” Adam says. 

 

“The kissing before talking way?” Ronan asks the window. 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says, “don’t get me wrong. I love the - I love the kissing part. That’s - damn it, Selkie - Ronan - kissing you was ridiculously great. But I said I wanted to date you. I don’t want to like… to  like - to influence any feelings by kissing you.” 

 

“You’re such an idiot,” Ronan says, which is kinda shitty, he knows, “you think my feelings could be influenced?” 

 

“I think anyone can be influenced,” Adam says flatly, “I’m not taking any risks. Not after a year. This is -” 

 

“Come on, Adam,” Ronan says. They’re pulling in to Monmouth. “Come on. You really think I wasn’t already all the way there last year? You don’t think my feelings weren’t strong enough to last a year? Seriously?” He pulls the handbrake. 

 

“No,” Adam says, “I don’t. I don’t think your feelings could have lasted a year with nothing. That doesn’t make any sense.” 

 

“So,” Ronan says, “you’re telling me you don’t feel anything for me? You’re saying that any feelings you had for me last year are gone?” 

 

“That’s obviously not what I’m doing,” Adam snaps, “that’s not what I’m saying.”

 

“Then,” Ronan snaps right back, “what the fuck are you saying?” 

 

“Are you mad at me because I don’t want to kiss you yet or are you mad at me because I’m not a hundred percent sure that we can just hop right back to where we were a whole fucking year ago?” 

 

“Both,” Ronan says, then shakes his head, “no. Not both. Just the latter.” 

 

“No one can just slip back into what they used to have,” Adam says, “that’s not how life works.” 

 

“It could be, but it wouldn’t be anyway. We’re not doing the same thing. We’re changing shit up.” 

 

“You don’t know me anymore,” Adam points out. 

 

Ronan sighs. 

 

“We could still go hang out behind the building,” Adam suggests, “not kissing. Just. Getting back to it?” 

 

“Ok,” Ronan says. He sounds, not enthusiastic, but pleased. “Let’s do it then.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says. Unbuckles himself. 

 

This is a very different scenario from the last time they were here. Or even the last time they were together (not counting the disastrous crying session at Boyd’s), but it was bone achingly familiar. Out of habit, maybe, they sit down with their backs against the fence, shoulder to shoulder, and Ronan reaches down and takes Adam hand, winds their fingers together and scrunches himself down to rest his head on Adam’s shoulder. Habit maybe. 

 

He’s fucking missed this. 

 

“I spent a lot of last year being really angry with you,” Adam mumbles into the night. 

 

Ronan replies against Adam’s neck. “Same.” 

 

“Now I - I’m not angry. Exactly. But I feel like there’s still angry there. Not directed at you, but just hanging out there.” 

 

“So eloquent,” Ronan says, “I see how you got that scholarship.” 

 

“Dick head,” Adam says, squeezes his hand, “do you understand?” 

 

“Yeah,” Ronan says, “I feel the same fucking thing. Asshole. Of course I understand.” 

 

“Do you get why I don’t wanna kiss you yet?” 

 

“Do I get that you do want to kiss me but don’t want to? Yes.” 

 

“Ok,” Adam says, “smart ass.” 

 

-

 

Nothing changes over night. Progress doesn’t happen hugely in a week. It happens slowly in a week. Two weeks. A month. Minute by minute. Word by word. It happens by Ronan making Adam laugh, and Adam making Ronan laugh, and Ronan kicking out the guy in the desk next to him in Latin and insisting Adam sits next to him so he can kick his ankle all the way through class and help him with declensions and vocab and to write rude little notes for Adam to translate later. 

 

-

 

It still moves quickly. Perhaps because of how familiar it felt to step into each other’s space, to lean against it each other, for Ronan to reach for Adam’s hands. They make it a week before Ronan just lets habit take over. 

 

Adam is over at Monmouth, theoretically here to study Latin vocab with Ronan, but much more technically here to sit scrunched on the couch with Ronan while Ronan played with his fingers. 

 

“Um,” Adam mumbles, “I’m still not like, not like completely confident I can decline occidere accurately. I keep like, I dunno -” 

 

“Mm,” Ronan says. “We can go over that if you want.” 

 

“Yeah,” Adam says. “I do want,” he adds. 

 

It’s late afternoon, and the sun is cool and dim on Adam’s skin, and his hand is hot in Ronan’s, and his body is entirely inclined towards Ronan, and Ronan just. Ronan just tips his head forward and Adam meets him in the middle. It feels like exhaling. He pulls away from the kiss a moment to look at Adam, to check that this wasn’t too quick, wasn’t too dumb, but Adam’s eyes were closed and his mouth was open, so he leaned back in and kissed him again. 

 

Adam kisses back, harder, with much more enthusiasm than he had over the declension of occidere. Ronan thinks that this would be even fucking better if he climbed into Adam’s lap right now, because they’d never had any opportunity to make out on a couch and it seemed like a good idea, but then the door opens. 

 

“Oh hell,” Gansey says loudly, “damn it. You guys!”

 

Ronan half pulls back, but Adam’s face follows his, and he changes his mind about decency and PDA and whatever and just keeps kissing Adam’s because they’d fucking missed a whole year of this, Gansey could put up with it. 

 

“Guys!” Gansey groans, closes the door behind himself, “You couldn’t have waited at least another week? I owe Noah twenty bucks now!” 

 

-

 

“I still can’t believe,” Noah says, two months later, “that out of all the fake names you could think of, you went with your actual name.” 

 

Ronan scoffs, chucks one of the peanuts he’s eating at Adam. Adam bats it away with practiced ease and shrugs. 

 

“I didn’t care if he knew my name,” he says, “I didn’t think I’d be seeing him for much longer at first. And then. I wanted him to know my name.” 

 

“You’re so gay,” Ronan says, throws another peanut. This one Adam catches in his mouth. 

 

“Bi,” Gansey says from just out of Adam’s peripheral, “get it right, Ronan.” 

 

“Yeah, Ronan,” Noah teases, “get it right.” 

 

“Fuck off,” Ronan snorts, shifts so he can reach out with his leg to kick Adam in the thigh, “and you. Why the hell are you sitting all the way over there?” 

 

“Ronan,” Adam says, puts his Latin homework down, “we are literally sitting on the same couch.” 

 

“Should be on the same couch cushion,” Ronan tells him, sounding very serious. 

 

“Then scoot over,” Adam replies, “I’m all set up over here. If you wanna cuddle you can fit yourself in around my papers.” 

 

“God,” Ronan groans, “you’re so annoying, fine.” 

 

-

 

A lot of what they have together is intensely familiar. They’d built up their friendship over the previous year, and they’d touched each other a lot, but the end result of the rekindling was a very different thing to what they had had before. 

 

Obviously it was different. This time around they were using truth. This time around Adam was not a seperate part of Ronan’s life. This time around Ronan wants Adam to know him as Ronan. This time around Adam kisses Ronan inside, and outside, and holds his hand in Monmouth, and tells Ronan how much he likes him and it wasn’t all wrapped up in pretending to be something other. 

 

This time Ronan lies next to Adam on the couch, bodies pressed together in part so they can fit on it and in part because they want to be as close as possible, and tells him what he’s freaking out about when he’s freaking out about it, and rests his hands on Adam’s hips and Adam calms him down as best he can and kisses Ronan on the cheeks on the lips on the forehead. 

 

This time Ronan takes Adam to visit his mother. Holds his hand by her bedside. Doesn’t pretend he isn’t crying. Lets Adam hold him. He regrets a lot. He especially regrets being so wound up and intent on needing to be a secret that he’d never gotten to properly introduce Adam to her. 

 

He does it as much as he can anyway. 

 

“Mum,” he says, “ma. This is Adam. My boyfriend. I like him so much, ma. I like him so much.” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! If you like my writing feel free to come yell at me on my Tumblr etoilegarden.tumblr.com


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